THE   SCHOOLMASTER 

OF 
HESSVILLE 


OF 


CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  A»GH» 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 


BARNABETTA 

GERTIE  SWARTZ:  FANATIC  OR  CHRISTIAN 

BETROTHAL  OF  ELYPHOLATE,  AND  OTHER  TALES 
OF  THE  PENNSYLVANIA  DUTCH 

CROSSWAYS 

THE  FIGHTING  DOCTOR 

HER  HUSBAND'S  PURSE 

His  COURTSHIP 

MARTHA  OF  THE  MENNONTTE  COUNTRY 

THE  PARASITE 

REVOLT  OF  ANNE  ROYLE 

SABINA,  STORY  OF  THE  AMISH 

THOSE  FlTZENBERGERS 

TILLIE,  A  MENNONTTE  MAID 

WHEN  HALF-GODS  Go 

MAGGIE  OF  VIRGINSBURG 


THE 

SCHOOLMASTER 
OF  HESSVILLE 


BY 
HELEN  R.  MARTIN 


GARDEN   CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
1920 


COPYRIGHT,  1920,  BT 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED,  INCLUDING  THAT   OF   TRANSLATION 
INTO  FOREIGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 

COPTBIGHT,  I92O,  BT  THE  CENT0BT  COMPANY 


2131502 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER 
OF  HESSVILLE 

CHAPTER  I 

A.  JOHN  WIMMER,  the  young  school 
teacher  of  the  village,  drove  up  in  his  buggy 
to  the  door  of  his  sweetheart's  home  at  the 
end  of  the  one  long  street  of  Hessville,  he  was  shocked 
and  astonished  to  see  Irene  waiting  for  him  on  the 
porch  in  her  blue  calico  working  dress  instead  of  her 
new  lavender  flowered  voile  with  straw  hat  trimmed 
with  lavender  flowers  to  match.  Inasmuch  as  his 
imagination  had  been  playing  with  that  lovely 
picture  of  her  all  the  morning,  it  was  disconcerting  to 
find  her,  this  afternoon,  in  blue  calico — though,  to  be 
sure,  even  in  that  she  was  a  sight  to  make  a  man 
tremble. 

"Och,  I  don't  feel  fur  goin'  to  the  circus,"  she 
replied  to  his  surprised  question  as  to  why  she  was  not 
ready. 

Her  tone  was  as  blasS  as  that  of  a  fashion-weary 
Newport  hostess  at  the  end  of  the  season  and  she 
tossed  her  beautiful  head  as  haughtily  as  though  a 
circus  were  not  to  her  a  social  function  of  distinction 
and  delight.  "I  have  tired  of  circuses." 

[3] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"But  I  got  the  tickets  a'ready,  Irene!"  said  John, 
a  troubled  look  in  his  kind  eyes.  "You  said  you 
wanted  to  go.  So  I  went  to  town  yesterday  as 
early  as  I  otherwise  could,  and  got  'em." 

Irene  noted  the  conspicuous  fact  that  John  did 
not,  apparently,  feel  called  upon  to  tell  her  what  the 
tickets  had  cost  which  she  would  so  lightly  discard. 
She  had  previously  noted  often  that  he  never  told  her 
what  he  had  paid  for  the  gifts  which,  from  time  to 
time,  he  brought  to  her  and  which  were,  of  course, 
a  necessary  part  of  his  courtship.  This  uncom- 
municativeness  annoyed  her.  The  price  of  a  gift 
was  nearly  the  most  interesting  thing  about  it. 
What  a  suitor's  courtship  cost  him  in  dollars  and 
cents  was  as  important  to  Irene  as  his  morals  and 
his  earning  power.  She  wondered  at  John's  silence 
on  such  a  vital  matter.  Other  young  men  of  Hess- 
ville  never  left  their  "girls"  in  painful  doubt  about 
it.  It  was  not,  she  was  sure,  that  John  considered  it 
unimportant;  that  he  was  indifferent  to  money.  He 
was  indeed  very  prudent.  And  she  could  see  that  he 
was  troubled  just  now  at  the  idea  of  wasting  the  sum 
he  had  invested  hi  the  tickets. 

Irene  was  quite  incapable  of  understanding  the 
incipient  fineness  in  John  which  gave  him  standards 
and  reticences  somewhat  different  from  those  of  his 
fellow  villagers. 

"Circuses  is  stale  to  me,"  she  said  flippantly.  "I 
ain't  goin'." 

"I  thought  you  liked  'em/'  said  John  dejectedly. 
[41 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Och,  I  got  too  used  to  *em." 

"They  say  they're  got  elephants  in  this  circus 
trained  to  talk  in  the  telephone.  That's  somepin 
you'd  mebby  like  to  see,  Irene." 

"I  don't  take  no  special  interest  in  elephants 
talkin'  in  telephones.  I  used  to  like  better  to  see  the 
ladies  in  pink  tights  that  rode  bare  back — before  I 
got  so  used  to  'em.  No,  I  don't  want  to  go." 

"But  what  made  you  change  your  mind?  You 
said  yesterday " 

"Och,  John,  quit  tellin'  me  what  I  said  yesterday! 
Yesterday  is  yesterday  and  to-day  is  to-day!"  re- 
torted Irene,  who  would  risk  missing  a  circus  for  the 
fun  of  tormenting  her  lover  and  trying  out  the  large 
limits  of  her  power  over  him. 

"All  right,"  said  John  resignedly.  "If  you  won't, 
you  won't,  I  guess.  It's  a  girl's  way,  mebby,  to 
want  a  thing  one  day  and  not  want  it  the  next. 
Ain't?" 

"Whether  it's  a  girl's  way  or  whether  it  ain't, 
makes  me  nothing.  Quit  botherin'  me,  John!" 

It  was  because  her  tones  were  so  dulcet,  her 
cheeks  so  creamy  and  pink,  her  eyes,  though  shallow, 
so  soft  and  blue,  her  curly  hair  so  golden  a  brown, 
that  her  perversity  seemed,  to  big,  strong  John 
Wimmer,  the  most  charming  girlishness. 

"Of  course  I  don't  want  you  to  go  if  you  don't  feel 
like  going,  Irene,"  he  said.  "It  was  to  give  you 
pleasure  that  I  got  the  tickets;  not  to  bother  you.'* 

"I  wonder  how  often  you'll  think  of  givin'  me 
[51 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

pleasure  after  we're  married  oncet!"  said  Irene, 
looking  coquettish,  but  speaking  derisively.  "It'll 
be — 'You  stay  home  and  do  the  housework!'  after 
you're  got  me  oncet — ain't  it  will?  " 

"You  don't  know  me  if  you  think  that,  Irene!" 

"  I  know  what  men  are ! "  said  Irene  darkly. 

"I  don't  wonder  you  don't  think  much  of  'em,'* 
John  admitted. 

It  seemed  to  him,  as  he  contemplated  her  young 
loveliness,  that  no  man  living  was  worthy  to  take 
into  his  coarse  and  clumsy  keeping  such  an  exquisite 
thing. 

"If  you're  sure  you  don't  want  to  go,"  he  began — 
but  she  cut  him  short. 

"If  I'm  sure?  Och,  John,  how  many  times  must 
I  say  it  till  you  know  it?  " 

It  was  his  invariable  yielding  to  her  whims  that 
tempted  her  to  go  to  such  lengths  in  testing  him. 
She  was  really  dying  to  go  to  the  circus;  she  knew 
perfectly  well  that  she  was  treating  him  shabbily  to 
have  consented  yesterday  to  his  getting  the  tickets 
and  now  to-day,  for  no  reason  but  her  love  of  being 
perverse,  to  refuse  to  go.  Her  dread  lest  he  take  her 
at  her  word  and  desist  from  coaxing  her  to  go  with 
him,  before  she  could  yield  with  grace,  added  to  her 
sharpness  toward  him. 

"It  ain't  no  use  fur  you  to  plague  me!"  she  per- 
sisted. 

"All  right,  then,  will  you  come  out  buggy-riding?" 

"I  ain't  dressed  to." 

[61 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OP  HESSVILLE 

"Till  you  get  dressed  a'ready,  I'll  go  take  the 
circus  tickets  'round  to  Minnie  Maus.  She  and  her 
father  can  use  'em." 

"Minnie  Maus  and  her  pop  can't  afford  the 
trolley  fare  to  town,"  Irene  quickly  objected. 

"I'll  give  'em  the  trolley  fare." 

"What  fur  do  you  want  to  throw  away  your  money 
on  other  folks?" 

"But  it'll  save  the  tickets  from  getting  wasted,  to 
leave  Minnie  and  her  father  use  'em.  I'd  hate  to 
have  no  one  get  the  use  of  'em.  I  got  such  re-served 
seats,  too." 

"Oh!"  cried  Irene  sharply,  "I  never  have  sat  in 
them  re-served  seats  yet!  Why  didn't  you  tell 
me?" 

"  I  was  goin'  to  surprise  you  with  'em.  Will  you  go 
then?" 

Irene  tossed  her  head.  ".Re-served  seats  ain't  so 
much!" 

"All  right  then,  I'll  hurry  round  and  give  Minnie 
Maus  the  tickets  before  it  gets  too  late  on  me." 

"Minnie  Maus  is  a  Mennonite — she  darsen't  go  to 
circuses,"  argued  Irene  desperately. 

"That's  so,  too— I  didn't  think  of  that.  But  she 
ain't  very  strict — I'll  anyhow  drive  round  and  ask 
her.  You  be  ready  to  go  on  the  buggy  till  I  come 
back  again.  Ain't,  you  will?" 

"I  don't  know  if  I  will.  If  I  feel  fur  it  I  will.  If 
I  don't  feel  fur  it  I  won't! " 

She  wanted  tremendously  to  yield  and  sit  in  those 
[7] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVTLLE 

exclusive  reserved  seats.  But  she  could  not  see  her 
way  to  it  with  any  vestige  of  dignity. 

"I'll  hurry,"  said  John,  going  quickly  across  the 
pavement  to  his  buggy.  "Good-bye  till  I  come 
again!"  he  called  back,  throwing  her  a  kiss  as  he 
drove  away.  He  was  madly  in  love  with  her — 
as  was,  indeed,  nearly  every  young  man  of  the 
village. 

Irene  sat  tense  for  an  instant;  then  suddenly  an 
idea  flashed  upon  her — she  saw  how  she  could,  with- 
out coming  down  from  her  high  horse,  not  only  go 
to  the  circus,  but  further  torment  John.  Springing 
up  from  the  porch,  she  rushed  into  her  father's 
"General  Store,"  adjoining  her  home,  and  seized  the 
telephone.  The  store  was  empty,  the  proprietor  not 
deeming  it  necessary  to  "mind"  it  when  nearly  every- 
one in  Hessville  was  getting  ready  to  go  to  town  to  the 
circus. 

In  a  moment  Irene  was  connected  with  the  Maus 
home  at  the  other  end  of  the  village,  toward  which 
John  was  driving.  Telephones  were  not  common  in 
private  homes  of  Hessville,  but  a  grateful  patient  of 
the  quack,  "Doc"  Maus,  had  installed  one  in  his 
house. 

"I  want  your  brother  Hen,"  Irene  curtly  informed 
Minnie  Maus  who  answered  the  telephone. 

"Say,  Hen,"  she  spoke  to  that  young  man,  "John 
Wimmer's  on  his  way  to  your  house  with  two  circus 
tickets  and  such  re-served  seats,  fur  Minnie  and  your 
pop.  Now,  listen  here!  You  make  Minnie  accept 

[8] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

'em  off  of  John  fur  you  and  then  you  come  on  round 
here  fur  the  show,  will  you?" 

"You  bet  you!"  exclaimed  Hen.  "But  why 
don't  he  take  you?" 

"I'll  tell  you  on  the  way  to  the  circus.  You  tell 
Minnie  right  aways.  Don't  you  or  her  leave  on  to 
John  that  I  phoned!  Do  you  get  me?" 

"Yes,  I  get  you!"  returned  Henry  eagerly. 

"  Then  hurry !     Good-bye ! " 

She  snapped  up  the  receiver  and  rushed  upstairs 
to  put  on  her  flowered  lavender  voile  and  hat  to 
match. 

Meantime,  Henry  Maus,  a  handsome,  burly 
youth,  with  an  unintelligent  and  rather  brutal 
countenance,  turned  from  the  telephone  to  instruct 
his  sister.  His  head  was  in  a  whirl  at  the  prospect  of 
escorting  to  the  circus  such  "a  winner"  as  Irene 
Laub.  That  he  was  going  at  the  expense  of  John 
Wimmer,  his  successful  rival  for  Irene's  hand,  and 
that  Irene  was  evidently  playing  one  of  her  "nasty 
tricks"  on  her  patient,  long-suffering  lover,  added 
much,  in  Henry's  estimation,  to  the  zest  of  the 
adventure. 

"Say!  Minnie!"  he  called  to  his  sister,  beginning 
at  once  to  unlace  his  shoes  to  expedite  the  change  into 
his  "Sunday  clothes."  "Come  on  here  oncet! 
Hurry  up!" 

A  young  girl,  wearing  the  plain  black  garb  of  the 
New  Mennonites,  came  from  the  kitchen  porch  to  the 
doorway.  She  was  a  slightly  built,  fine-featured 

[9] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

maiden,  whose  Madonna-like  loveliness  defeated  the 
purpose  of  her  puritanic  garb,  which  really  rather 
enhanced  than  marred  her  beauty.  She  was  in 
every  respect  a  contrast  to  Irene  Laub.  Her 
colouring  was  not  rich  and  varied,  but  toned  to  the 
daintiest  delicacy;  her  figure  was  not  robust  and 
voluptuous,  but  slender  and  graceful;  her  coun- 
tenance was  not  scornful  and  peevish,  but  gentle  and 
thoughtful.  To  the  crude  taste  of  the  young 
Pennsylvania  Dutch  beaus  of  Hessville,  Minnie 
Maus's  ethereal  beauty  seemed  colourless;  and  her 
quiet  gentleness,  as  contrasted  with  the  boisterous 
jollity  of  most  of  the  Hessville  girls,  seemed  spiritless. 
She  did  not  appeal  to  them.  It  was  fortunate, 
therefore,  that  they,  in  their  turn,  did  not,  for  the 
most  part,  appeal  to  her. 

To  the  discerning,  however,  Minnie  would  not 
have  appeared  either  colourless  or  spiritless.  There 
was  a  look  in  her  eyes  as  of  a  smouldering  fire;  an 
expression  about  her  soft  lips  of  quiet  resolution. 

"Say,  listen  here,  Minnie,"  her  brother  ad- 
monished her  authoritatively,  "John  Wimmer's 
comin*  up  here  in  his  buggy  to  fetch  you  two  circus 
tickets  and  two  such  re-served  seats  fur  you  and  Pop. 
Now " 

"Oh!"  she  interrupted  breathlessly,  a  faint  colour 
coming  into  her  pale  cheeks,  "John's  coming  here 
himself — now?  " 

"You're  not  to  turn  down  them  circus  tickets — do 
you  hear?" 

[10] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Do  you  mean,'*  she  asked  incredulously,  "that 
you'll  take  father  to  the  circus?  He'll  like  awful 
well  to  go!" 

Henry  laughed  her  to  scorn.  "I'm  likely  to  go 
along  to  a  circus  with  Pop  yet — ain't?  Aw,  give 
another  guess!  Don't  be  so  dumb!  Just  you  mind 
what  I  tell  you,  Minnie,  and  take  them  tickets  off  of 
John  -  Wimmer  when  he  offers  'em  to  you.  And 
don't  leave  on  to  him  that  I  sayed  nothing  to  you 
about  'em.  Do  you  hear?" 

"I  can't  use  them  myself,  you  know." 

"Huh!  I  bet  if  John  Wimmer  ast  you  to  go  along 
with  him  anywheres — to  a  circus  or  to  hell  itself — no 
damned  religion  would  hold  you  back!  Och,  I 
seen  this  good  while  back  a'ready  how  you  are  gone 
on  that  great  big  boob  that's  so  dippy  over  Irene 
Laub  he  leaves  her  treat  him  like  an  old  shoe!  No 
use  your  thinkin'  about  him!  Now  mind  what-I'mi 
tellin'  you — take  them  tickets  when  he  offers  'em,  or 
it'll  be  the  worse  fur  you!" 

With  which  brotherly  admonition,  Henry  rushed 
upstairs  in  his  stocking  feet  to  finish  a  hasty  toilet, 
while  Minnie,  rather  bewildered,  her  heart  beating 
fast,  went  to  the  front  of  the  house  to  wait  for  John 
Wimmer's  buggy. 

Hessville  was  a  prosperous  village  and  almost  the 
only  house  in  it  that  manifested  signs  of  poverty  was 
this  of  the  Maus  family.  But  while  the  little  frame 
building  needed  paint  and  repairs;  while  the  furniture 
was  old  and  shabby  and  the  carpets  worn  and 

[HI 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

patched,  there  was,  nevertheless,  a  homelikeness,  an 
inviting  coziness  about  the  place;  Minnie  knew  how 
to  make  the  best  of  her  poverty. 

She  held  the  position  of  assistant  teacher  in  the 
village  school  under  John  Wimmer,  Principal,  and  she 
was  the  main  support  of  her  aging  and  sickly  father 
and  of  her  idle  and  ruffianly  brother  Henry. 

When  John's  buggy  presently  drew  up  to  the 
house  and  Minnie  went  out  to  the  curb  to  meet  it,  the 
young  schoolmaster  was  pleasantly  conscious,  as  the 
girl  came  toward  him,  of  the  peculiar  grace  of  her 
movements.  In  their  daily  association  at  school, 
John,  being  an  exception  among  his  fellow-villagers, 
was  always  alive  to  the  atmosphere  of  refinement,  of 
spirituality,  that  Minnie's  presence  seemed  to  bear. 
It  was  hard  sometimes  to  believe  that  she  and  "Hen  " 
were  brother  and  sister  and  that  she  was  the  daughter 
of  that  old  fraud,  Doc  Maus.  John  did  not  know  it, 
but  his  close  partnership,  in  work,  with  Minnie  was 
making  him  feel  and  see  occasionally,  even  through 
the  blinding  light  of  love,  that  Irene  was,  now  and 
then,  raw  and  crude. 

"I  got  two  tickets  for  the  circus,  Minnie,  and  four 
trolley  tickets  to  and  from  town  that  I  ain't  using. 
Do  you  want  to  take  your  father?'* 

"You  are  kind,  John,  but  you  know  I  can't  go  to  a 
circus,"  she  said,  indicating  her  garb.  "And  father 
couldn't  take  the  trip  alone.  Thank  you  just  the 

same.    But  if  you'd "  she  began,  but  stopped, 

embarrassed. 

[121 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"I'm  sorry,"  replied  John.  "It's  a  pity  you 
don't  favour  pleasure-seeking  a  little,  Minnie.  It 
wouldn't  do  you  any  harm." 

"Our  Mennonite  preacher  said  last  Sunday," 
said  Minnie  wistfully,  "how  the  souls  in  hell  regret 
the  sins  they  committed  on  earth;  but  I  thought  to 
myself  that  maybe  when  I'm  dead,  I'll  be  regretting 
the  pleasures  I  missed  on  earth!" 

There  was  a  troubled  look  in  the  dark  eyes  that  she 
raised  to  John's;  and  he  thought  how  pretty  and 
innocent  she  was. 

"Ain't  I  awful?  "  she  appealed  to  him. 

"Awful  ain't  the  word  for  it!  You  make  warm 
chills  go  over  me!"  smiled  John. 

"If  only  there  wasn't  any  hell,"  said  Minnie 
pensively,  "I'd  like  to  go  pleasure-seeking,  too,  like 
other  ones." 

"To  really  be  good,  Minnie,"  returned  John 
thoughtfully,  "you  got  to  turn  your  back  on  heaven 
and  hell  and  be  good  because  you  like  it.  It  oughtn't 
to  make  anything  to  you  if  there's  a  hell  or  if  there 
ain't." 

She  considered  this  earnestly.  "Now,  John,  I  see 
a  thought  in  that — it's  love,  not  fear,  that  must  fill 
the  heart.  Ain't?" 

"Sure.  I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  wasn't  any  place  but  in  the  heart." 

"I  know  you're  such  an  (7w-believer,  John." 

"I  don't  call  that  being  an  Unbeliever.  Well,"  he 
added,  picking  up  the  reins,  "I'm  sorry  I  got  to  be 

f  131 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

moving  on,  for  I  like  holding  conversations  on  deep 
subjects  like  them — it's  enjoyable.  And  you're  the 
only  person  I  can  hold  'em  with.  I  can't  think  of 
myself  conwersing  on  such  subjects  with  Irene,"  he 
smiled  a  little  sadly.  "She'd  think  it  was  awful  dry. 
Say,  Minnie,  do  you  know  any  one  I  could  give  these 
tickets  to?  I  hate  for  'em  to  be  wasted." 

"It  would  be  a  pity  for  'em  to  be  wasted,"  she 
admitted.  "I  guess  mebby  you  wouldn't  want  to 
give  'em  to — to  Henny?" 

"No,  I  don't  know  as  I  would  care  to  give  'em  to 
Hen." 

He  noted  the  look  of  anxiety,  almost  of  fear,  in  her 
expressive  eyes.  "Has  Hen  been  devillin'  you  to 
give  him  money  for  circus  tickets?"  he  demanded. 

She  nodded  dumbly 

"That  lazy  hulk!  You  know,  Minnie,  I  don't 
favour  corporal  punishment  and  don't  use  it  in 
school — but  your  brother  Hen  is  an  exception  to 
my  theory.  He  needs  to  be  trounced  good!  And 
I'd  like  to  be  the  one  to  give  it  to  him !  Maybe  some 
day  I  might  get  warmed  up  to  it  yet !  Yes,  anyhow !" 

He  picked  up  his  reins  to  start  away,  but  the  open 
distress  and  apprehension  in  her  face  arrested  him. 

"If  my  letting  the  tickets  here  will  save  you  any- 
thing, Minnie ?" 

"Oh,  it  would,  John!  Hen  would  be  furious 
if "  She  stopped  short  in  some  confusion . 

"Furious  if  you  don't  give  him  money  for  a  circus 
ticket?" 

[14] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"He  was  nagging  at  me  all  morning  for  the 
money." 

"Well,  then,  to  save  you  trouble,  Minnie,  I'll  let 
one  of  these  tickets.  You  can  tell  Hen  it's  for  your 
sake,  not  for  his,  that  I'm  letting  it." 

"But — but — oh,  John,  don't  think  me  greedy 
and  unthankful,  but  if  you  would  let  both  your 
tickets— 

"Hen  wouldn't  take  your  father  along — don't  you 
think  it,  Minnie!" 

"  I  know  he  wouldn't.     But— 

"He  wants  to  take  a  girl,  does  he?  Is  he  travellin* 
with  a  girl  now?" 

"No,  he  ain't.     But  I  know  he  wants  two  tickets." 

"And  don't  you  know  who  it  is  he  wants  to  take 
along?" 

"I  ain't  sure,"  she  truthfully  answered,  for  such  a 
treacherous  trick  as  that  which  Irene  was  trying  to 
play  upon  John  would  have  been  inconceivable  to 
Minnie. 

"Oh,  well,  here,  take  'em,"  said  John,  handing  her 
both  the  circus  tickets  and  the  trolley  tickets.  "If 
it  gives  you  a  little  peace  I  guess  it's  a  good  use  k> 
put  the  tickets  to." 

"I'm  wery  much  obliged,  John." 

"That's  all  right.     Good-bye,  Minnie."  Vo.. 

"Did  you  turn  them  tickets  down?"  Hen  greeted 
her  threateningly,  coming  downstairs  in  festive  ap- 
parel just  as  she  returned  to  the  kitchen. 

Minnie  handed  them  to  him.     "Here  they  are." 
[15] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"It's  good  for  you  that  you  got  'em.  I'd  certainly 
o'  made  it  hot  fur  you  if  you  hadn't  of ! " 

Minnie  turned  away  and  left  the  room.  Henry 
dashed  out  the  back  door  to  take  a  short  cut  through 
orchards  and  vegetable  gardens  to  Laub's  General 
Store. 

Meantime,  John  drove  quickly  back  through  the 
village  to  get  Irene  for  "a  buggy  ride." 

As  he  drew  up  before  the  General  Store  he  was 
sure  he  saw  the  delectable  lavender  voile  flutter  past 
an  upstairs  window;  and  his  heart  fluttered  re- 
sponsively.  But  when  he  knocked  at  the  front  door 
no  one  came  to  open  it.  He  repeated  his  knock  in 
vain.  Then  he  went  into  the  store.  Mr.  Laub, 
Irene's  father,  was  sound  asleep  on  some  cracker 
boxes.  John  did  not  wake  him.  He  was  apt  to  be 
more  considerate  of  other  people  than  of  himself. 
Stepping  softly  through  the  store  he  went  on  out  to  the 
kitchen.  It  was  empty  and  darkened.  Mrs.  Laub 
and  her  sister  who  lived  with  her  had  gone  to  the  circus. 

John  went  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and  called, 
"Irene!"  several  times.  There  was  no  response. 

He  stood  still  and  thought — a  slow  red  creeping  up 
into  his  face,  a  hurt  look  in  his  eyes  and  about  his 
fine  mouth.  "This  is  goin'  a  little  too  far,  I  guess!" 
he  reflected. 

Not  even  Irene  dared  go  too  far  with  John  Wim- 
mer.  Like  most  men  who  are  slow  to  anger,  his 
passions  when  roused  were  not  mild.  However,  he 
had  not  yet  reached  the  end  of  his  patience. 

[16] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Slowly  and  thoughtfully  he  went  out  of  the  house 
and  got  into  his  buggy.  As  he  mechanically  picked 
up  the  reins  the  horse  started  off,  but  he  was  too 
abstracted  to  heed  where  he  went. 

He  had  not  the  least  idea  how  a  man  ought  to  deal 
with  such  whimsical,  impossible  behaviour  as  Irene's. 
She  had  promised  to  marry  him;  he  loved  her  with  a 
passion  that  awed  him;  she  possessed  him  body  and 
soul;  he  breathed  and  lived  every  moment  of  the  day 
for  her.  What  could  he  do  when  she  acted  like  this? 
A  man  was  so  helpless  when  a  woman  played  the 
tyrant — she  had  him  at  such  a  disadvantage,  seeing  he 
couldn't  "use  her  rough"  as  he  would  use  a  man  who 
played  fast  and  loose  with  him.  At  the  same  time 
he  couldn't  let  a  woman  make  "a  darned  fool"  of 
him. 

He  was  roused  from  his  reverie  by  the  clangour  of 
the  approaching  trolley  car  bound  for  the  city. 
Tightening  his  limp  hold  on  the  reins,  he  turned  the 
horse  aside  to  let  the  car  go  by,  and  as  it  passed  him 
he  looked  up — to  see  facing  him  on  the  front  seat 
Henry  Maus  and  Irene  Laub.  Irene  tossed  her  head 
in  mingled  defiance  and  embarrassment.  But  Henry 
waved  his  best  straw  hat  and  shouted,  "Beat  you  to 
it  this  time,  Gran'pop!" 

John  drove  home  blindly  to  his  father's  farm,  a 
half  mile  outside  the  village.  His  horse  was  sweating 
when  he  unhitched  him-  He  himself,  as  he  made  his 
way  from  the  barn  to  the  house,  was  breathing  hard 
and  deep. 

[17] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

He  stopped  outside  the  kitchen  door,  hesitating  to 
go  in.  His  face  must  surely  betray  to  his  mother  and 
sisters  the  turmoil  of  his  mind ! 

Turning  away,  he  walked  across  the  back  yard  to 
the  slanting  cellar  door  and  sat  down  with  a  bump. 

FOJ  a  long  time — motionless,  white,  stricken,  his 
eyes  on  the  ground — he  sat  there,  one  fact  only 
emerging  clear  from  the  confusion  and  anguish  of  his 
emotions.  Whatever  the  cause  of  Irene's  behaviour 
— whether  it  was  that  she  was  the  over-indulged  and 
spoiled  only  child  of  her  elderly  parents;  or  whether 
she  was  what  "females"  called  "nervous";  or 
whether  she  was  just  naturally  perverse  and  in- 
considerate— one  thing  was  certain,  she  needed 
discipline. 

Thus  far  in  their  courtship  he  had  never  crossed 
her;  had  yielded  to  all  her  most  unreasonable  notions, 
indulged  her  most  extravagant  demands  or  requests; 
had  never  reproved  or  resented  her  perversities  and 
unkindnesses;  had  been  humbly  grateful  for  her 
gentler  moods  and  had  richly  rewarded  the  least  of 
her  favours.  He  had,  in  short,  let  her  lead  him  by 
the  nose,  and  he  saw,  to-day,  that  he  had  let  himself 
be  led  quite  too  far. 

"She's  too  sure  of  me.  I've  made  myself  too 
cheap.  A  girl  don't  walue  what's  so  cheap." 

It  had  been  a  diplomatic  blunder  on  Irene's  part  to 
have  let  John  discover  that  she  was  leading  him  a 
walk  and  a  dance  for  her  own  amusement.  Not  even 
his  great  passion  for  her  would  let  him  knowingly 

[181 


consent  to  be  made  a  fool  of.  Not  so  much  for  his 
own  self-respect  as  to  save  the  soul  of  his  beloved 
would  he  put  an  end  to  it. 

He  did  not  dream  of  holding  Minnie  Maus  respon- 
sible for  what  had  happened.  She,  too,  had  been 
duped. 

John  was  a  thoughtful  fellow  and  in  his  own  crude 
way  had  forged  out  a  good  many  theories  about  life 
and  people.  One  of  these  theories,  culled  from  his 
observation  of  the  domestic  tyrannies  of  many  of  the 
Pennsylvania  Dutch  homes  of  Hessville,  was  that  the 
worst  sort  of  a  mate  a  man  could  have  was  one  who, 
by  too  much  submission,  fostered  her  husband's 
natural  selfishness  and  brutality.  And  now  he  saw 
to-day  that  this  theory  was  applicable  both  ways. 

"A  poor  husband  I'd  make  if  I  encouraged  Irene 
to  act  up  like  this !  A  poor  mother  she'd  be  for  our 
children,  leaving  herself  behave  so  flighty  and  on- 
reasonable!  It's  got  to  stop !" 

The  problem  that  he  pondered  during  the  long 
hours  of  that  September  afternoon,  sitting  as  still  as 
a  carved  image  on  the  cellar  door,  was  how  to  bring 
home  to  Irene  that  she  did  not  own  him  body  and 
soul;  that  if  she  wanted  to  hold  him  she  must  be  fair 
and  square  with  him.  How  was  he  to  go  about  it? 

But  it  was  his  heart,  not  his  head,  that  finally, 
after  long  cogitation,  showed  him  the  way.  The 
suffocating  rage,  the  scorching  pain  he  suffered  in  the 
thought  of  Henry  Maus  at  Irene's  side  in  his  place 
this  afternoon,  while  he  sat  here  alone  on  the  cellar 

[19] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

door  in  the  back  yard,  revealed  to  him  that  jealousy 
was  a  factor  in  life  more  potent  than  he  had  hitherto 
suspected. 

"I  got  to  make  her  jealous.  I'll  travel  with  an- 
other party  for  a  while  and  make  Irene  uneasy." 

The  only  available  "other  party"  he  could  think  of 
was  his  young  assistant  at  the  school,  Minnie  Maus. 

"That's  what  I'll  do— I'll  travel  with  Minnie 
Maus  for  a  couple  weeks ! " 

So  absorbed  was  he  in  the  consideration  of  his  own 
deep  misery  that  he  quite  overlooked  Minnie's  part 
in  the  farce  he  meant  to  play — the  farce  that  was  to 
win  Irene  to  him  forever  by  exciting  her  fear  of  losing 
him.  John  would  never  have  willingly  hurt  a  fellow 
human  being,  least  of  all  a  young  girl  whom  he  re- 
spected and  liked  as  he  did  Minnie  Maus.  But  to- 
day he  was  blind  and  deaf  to  everything  in  the  uni- 
verse save  his  burning  jealousy  and  passion. 

"I'll  start  right  in  to-morrow!  Instead  of  sitting 
up  with  Irene  Sunday  night,  I'll  go  take  Minnie 
buggy  riding  right  past  Irene's  front  step!" 

He  knew  that  to  keep  away  from  Irene  when 
every  drop  of  blood  in  his  body  cried  out  for  her;  to 
act  deliberately  in  a  way  to  cause  his  beloved  such 
hours  of  suffering  as  he  was  now  suffering;  to  stick 
to  his  plot  with  Spartan  courage  until  he  had  safely 
brought  it  to  a  successful  culmination — would  re- 
quire all  the  resolution  that  he  could  command. 

But  whatever  were  John  Wimmer's  shortcomings, 
a  lack  of  resolution  was  not  one  of  them. 

[20] 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  day  following  the  circus  was  Sunday,  the 
great  courting  day  among  the  villagers,  on 
which  John  and  Irene  always  spent  the  after- 
noon and  evening  together — driving,   walking,   at- 
tending "meeting,"  or  just  sitting  around  "keeping 
company." 

Irene,  knowing  she  had  treated  her  lover  very 
shabbily,  anticipated  eagerly  the  fun  of  "making  up" 
when  he  came  to  see  her  to-day.  Having  teased  and 
fooled  him  to  her  heart's  content,  she  was  ready  now 
to  be  generously  gracious  to  him.  She  dressed  her- 
self to  look  her  prettiest,  feeling  perfect  confidence  in 
the  power  of  her  beauty  to  dispel  any  soreness  he 
might  feel  at  the  flagrant  and  audacious  disloyalty  of 
which  she  had  been  guilty  in  having  used  his  tickets 
to  go  to  the  circus  with  another  "admarer."  Al- 
though she  had  never  before  tried  John  quite  so  far  as 
this,  she  did  not  for  a  moment  fear  that  he  would  not 
forgive  her  this  time  as  he  always  had  done  in  the 
past. 

So,  when  the  afternoon  went  by  and  he  did  not 
come,  she  was  very  much  surprised  and  a  little  bit 
worried. 

"It'd  serve  him  right  if  I  wasn't  home  when  he 
[21] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

does  come  round  this  evening !  I  have  a  good  notion 
to  just  go  off  somewheres  after  supper!" 

But  she  did  not  "go  off  somewheres."  She 
prinked  up  afresh  and  sat  out  on  the  front  step  to 
watch  for  John's  buggy  coming  up  the  street. 

"He'll  have  to  plague  me  to  go  buggy-ridin'  along 
now! — after  keepin'  me  settin'  round  all  afternoon 
waitin'  fur  him!" 

Never  before  had  he  tried  to  "spite  her  back"  like 
this!  It  sounded  a  note  of  warning  to  her  that  his 
patience  had  its  limits. 

It  would  have  been  inconceivable  to  her  that,  far 
from  trying  to  "spite"  her,  he  was  endeavouring  to 
discipline  her  for  her  own  good. 

Irene  could  not,  guilty  though  she  felt,  regret  very 
deeply  what  she  had  done,  for  she  had  had  a  grand 
time  at  the  circus  with  Hen  Maus.  Hen  was  lots 
better  company  than  sober  old  John.  Hen  was  such 
"a  jolly  fellah,"  such  "a  cut-up"!  They  had  been 
boisterously  hilarious  all  the  afternoon;  she  had 
never  laughed  so  much  in  all  her  life. 

"To  be  sure  Hen's  awful  common  beside  John," 
she  reflected  as,  sitting  on  the  porch  with  eyes  strained 
for  the  first  sight  of  John's  buggy  coming  up  the 
street,  she  recalled  some  passages  of  her  good  time  of 
the  day  before.  "Hen  ain't  got  the  refined  manners 
at  him  that  John's  got,  nor  the  grand  education 
neither.  But  refined  manners  and  a  Normal  School 
education  can  certainly  make  a  fellah  awful  slow!" 
she  pouted,  recalling  resentfully  John's  grave  silence 

[22] 


whenever  vulgar  jokes  were   "cracked"   or  coarse 
allusions  made  in  his  presence. 

She  was  aware,  with  secret  shame,  of  the  fact  that 
she  was  much  more  at  home  with  Hen  than  with  her 
betrothed. 

"  It's  a  pity  Hen  ain't  as  good-fixed  as  what  John  is ! " 
Not  only  was  Hen  poor,  but  he  was  the  son  of  a 
disgraceful  old  fake  Doc,  a  "healer"  who  powwowed 
the  sick;  and  though  there  was  scarcely  a  family  in 
Hessville  or  in  the  surrounding  township  that  did 
not,  in  emergency,  when  regular  doctors  failed, 
experiment  with  the  supernatural  help  which  "Doc- 
tor" Maus  claimed  the  power  to  dispense,  yet  they 
held  him,  quite  illogically,  in  contempt.  Not  be- 
cause he  was  a  quack,  but  because  he  charged  them 
nothing,  believing  himself  empowered  and  appointed 
of  God  to  heal;  and  though  it  was  understood  that  his 
patients  should  reward  him  with  a  gift,  as  little  or  as 
much  as  they  chose,  nothing  at  all  if  that  suited  them 
better,  yet  one  could  not,  of  course,  respect  a  man 
who  held  his  wares  as  cheap  as  that.  Irene  knew 
that  to  take  up  with  the  penniless  son  of  a  man  like 
Doc  Maus — she  who  was  more  popular  with  "the 
fellahs"  than  any  other  girl  in  Hessville — would  be 
to  lower  herself.  John,  on  the  other  hand,  being  the 
son  of  a  rich  farmer,  a  graduate  of  Kutztown  Normal, 
and  the  village  teacher  getting  $75  a  month  clear, 
was  one  of  the  best  matches  in  the  whole  township. 
Irene  was  very  much  aware  of  all  the  worldly  ad- 
vantages of  her  engagement. 

[23] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

She  had  had  time  to  become  a  bit  apprehensive 
before  she  saw,  at  last,  her  lover's  buggy  approach- 
ing. It  had  seemed  unbelievable  that  he  would 
remain  away  from  her  not  only  all  day  but  again 
this  evening.  The  moment  she  heard  the  clatter  of 
the  horse's  hoofs  she  knew  how  foolish  had  been 
her  momentary  fear  that  he  was  actually  letting  the 
whole  of  Sunday  pass  without  coming  to  "sit  up" 
with  her. 

"He  couldn't  near  act  like  that!"  she  now  con- 
fidently smiled  to  herself.  "That  would  be  going 
some!" 

What,  then,  was  her  surprise  when,  as  the  buggy 
drew  near,  she  saw  that  John  was  not  alone !  Some- 
one was  at  his  side;  a  black-bonneted  "plain" 
person.  Whom  was  he  bringing  to  see  her — and 
why?  He  always  preferred  to  be  alone  with  her — 
why,  then,  this 

But  the  buggy  was  not  slowing  up  at  her  door! 
The  person  at  his  side  was,  she  could  see  now,  his 
school  assistant,  Minnie  Maus!  They  were  smiling 
into  each  other's  eyes  as  they  drove  right  straight 
past  the  house — John  scarcely  lifting  his  eyes  from 
Minnie's  radiant  face  as  he  raised  his  hat  to  his 
betrothed!  Irene  had  always  been  very  conceited 
over  the  fact  that  her  lover  was  the  only  man  in 
Hessville  who  raised  his  hat  to  women. 

"Well,  of  all  the  nerve!"  she  gasped,  bewildered  to 
the  point  of  idiocy.  "Well,  John  Wimmer,  if  you 
ain't!  Well,  this  is  going  some!" 

[24] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

The  awful  possibility  that  she  had  lost  him  alto- 
gether through  her  ruthless  behaviour  made  her  heart 
sink  for  an  instant.  But  she  quickly  realized  how 
groundless  was  such  a  doubt.  She  knew  too  well  how 
great  was  his  passion  for  her.  It  could  not  be  killed 
all  in  an  hour  by  am/thing  she  might  do.  He  was 
only  "paying  her  back,"  trying  to  make  her  jealous. 
As  if  she  could  be  jealous  of  such  as  Minnie  Maus, 
even  if  Minnie  was  a  school  teacher!  Oh,  to  be  sure, 
Minnie  was  "no  bad  looker."  But  how  could  she, 
Irene  Laub,  be  jealous  of  a  Mennonite,  a  "plain" 
person? 

"John  certainly  would  look  higher'n  a  Menno- 
nite, even  if  he  was  in  love  with  one,  which  he  ain't! 
He's  nutty  about  me  and  no  one  else!  He'd  anyhow 
look  higher'n  Minnie  Maus,  same  as  I'd  look  higher'n 
Hen.  Och,  you  ain't  foolin  me  any,  John  Wimmer!" 

And  yet,  the  incredible  fact  that  he  had  "up  and 
took"  Minnie  Maus  instead  of  her,  out  "on  his 
buggy,"  was  so  astounding  that  she  could  only  stare 
at  it  stupidly,  quite  unable  to  concentrate  her  at- 
tention upon  a  plan  for  "getting  back  at  him." 

Some  other  instances  of  the  resolution  of  which 
John  was  capable  began  to  recur  to  her — causing  her 
an  uneasiness  she  had  never  before  experienced  in 
her  relations  with  him.  There  was  that  time  when 
he  had  "cheeked"  his  tyrannical  father — Irene  had 
heard  the  story  often  from  one  of  John's  admiring 
sisters.  He  had  been  only  seventeen  years  old  at 
that  time,  but  had  already  become  bigger  and 

[25] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

stronger,  physically  and  mentally,  than  his  father 
was.  Mr.  Wimmer  had  always  overworked  his 
children,  stinted  them,  allowed  them  no  pleasures  or 
recreations,  punished  them  harshly  for  every  trifling 
fault  and,  in  short,  had  done  everything  in  his  power 
to  make  them  worthless  cowards,  hypocrites,  and 
sneaks.  But  in  the  case  of  his  first-born  child  and 
only  son,  his  efforts  to  achieve  this  result  had  been 
vain.  Though  John's  childhood  had  been  gruesome, 
he  had  not  been  cowed;  he  had  bided  his  time 
patiently,  quietly,  with  Spartan  endurance,  his 
apparent  submission  goading  his  father,  sometimes, 
to  actual  cruelty  in  his  contempt  for  the  poor- 
spirited  boy.  John  had  waited  until  he  could  be 
quite  sure  of  himself .  And  at  last  one  day,  when  his 
favourite  young  sister  was  about  to  be  chastised,  he 
revealed  himself.  Without  any  flurry  or  excitement, 
the  young  Hercules  had  coolly  lifted  his  father  off  his 
feet  and  with  a  grip  of  iron  had  held  him  high  in  air 
until  he  had  extracted  from  him  a  promise  to  "leave 
the  girl  be." 

Then  John  had  laid  down  the  law  to  him :  no  more 
beatings;  at  least  a  village  school  education  for  all  of 
them;  no  field  or  barn  work  for  his  mother  and 
sisters — "You  can  well  afford  to  hire  all  that ' 

His  father  had  threatened  to  put  him  out  of  the 
house;  to  disinherit  him.  But  John,  paying  no 
attention  to  his  threats,  had  without  any  apparent 
effort,  become,  from  that  day,  the  head  and  master  of 
the  house;  at  least  the  master  of  his  father;  he  had 

[261 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

never  shown  any  inclination  to  dominate  his  mother 
and  sisters.  Like  all  bullies,  his  father  feared  the 
man  or  boy  who  was  not  afraid  of  him.  He  sub- 
mitted to  his  son's  supremacy  abjectly. 

Irene  thought  of  other  instances  of  John's  deter- 
mination. When,  upon  his  graduation  from  "Kutz- 
town  Normal,"  he  had  been  elected  principal  of  the 
Hessville  school,  he  had  given  it  out,  on  his  first  day 
as  master,  that  he  was  "opposed  to  corporal  punish- 
ment." The  school  board  had  been  alarmed, 
feeling  sure  that  he  could  never  earn  his  salary  with- 
out using  his  muscular  arms  as  well  as  his  book- 
learning.  That  would  be  much  too  lazy  a  way  to 
teach  school.  The  Board  did  not  propose  to  pay 
$75  a  month  and  not  get  their  money's  worth. 

But  strange  to  say,  John  had  never  had  the  least 
trouble  in  governing  his  school  without  the  rod.  He 
treated  his  pupils  "so  white"  (so  they  said)  that  they 
would  have  been  ashamed  to  "bother"  him.  He 
had  even  been  able  to  manage  that  "dumb  thing," 
Emmy  Fetterhoff,  a  great  girl  of  sixteen  who,  for  no 
apparent  reason,  would  get  "stubborn  spells,"  be- 
come as  balky  as  a  mule,  refuse  to  speak  or  move, 
responding  neither  to  scoldings  nor  beatings.  Through 
all  her  school  years  her  teachers  had  tried  in  vain  to 
beat  this  obstinacy  out  of  her.  She  had  never  once 
in  her  life  given  in  under  punishment  no  matter  how 
severe  it  was;  she  had  yielded  only  when  she  was 
"good  and  ready."  Now  Emmy's  "spells"  had 
always  afforded  an  exciting  diversion  from  the  dull 

[27] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

routine  of  lessons.  With  the  advent  of  each  new 
teacher,  the  suspense  as  to  whether  he  or  she  would 
succeed  in  conquering  the  girl ;  to  what  extremes  the 
teacher  would  go  to  accomplish  this  feat  and  prove 
his  physical  efficiency;  how  he  would  accept  his  al- 
most certain  defeat — these  were  deeply  interesting 
uncertainties.  Therefore,  when  John  Wimmer  made 
no  attempt  whatever  to  conquer  her,  the  school's 
disappointment  was  tragic. 

"All  right,  Emmy,"  he  had  said  to  her  when  one 
morning  she  suddenly  refused  to  budge  from  her 
seat  and  come  up  to  her  geography  class  and  would 
not  open  her  lips  to  answer  his  inquiry  as  to  why  she 
would  not  come,  "go  to  it,  my  child,  if  you  get  any 
fun  of  it.  Enjoy  yourself.  I  guess  I  can  stand  it  as 
long  as  you  can.  I'm  bigger  and  stronger  than  you 
are." 

After  that  he  had  never  noticed  her;  just  let  her 
sit — all  day  long.  Her  spells  usually  lasted  a  week  or 
more.  She  recovered  from  this  one  in  a  day  and  a 
half.  And  she  never  tried  it  out  on  John  again. 
The  caprice  had  lost  its  zest. 

John's  avowed  faith  in  the  superior  power  of  love, 
rather  than  of  fear  and  punishment,  to  overcome  evil, 
was  looked  upon  in  Hessville  as  the  foolish  notion  of 
one  whom  "too  much  learning"  (a  graduate  of 
Kutztown  Normal,  be  it  noted)  had  rather  un- 
balanced. He  seemed  to  employ  his  strong  will  to 
govern  himself  rather  than  others — which  was  clearly 
eccentric. 

[28] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

But  occasionally,  when  he  met  with  a  case  in 
which  his  theory  failed  to  work  out,  he  had  the 
common  sense  to  compromise  with  his  theory  and 
deal  with  the  exception  very  forcefully,  as  the  bully 
of  his  school,  Jake  Gumpf,  had  learned  to  his  cost 
when  he  had  attempted  to  prove  the  shallowness  of 
the  teacher's  views. 

"Jake  sure  got  all  that  was  comin'  to  him  and  then 
some!"  the  pupils  had  reported  at  home. 

"So  John  Wimmer  licked  him,  did  he?  He 
might  have  knowed  from  the  beginning  that  he'd 
have  to  lick  Gumpf  before  he  could  learn  him  his 
books." 

"But  he  didn't  lick  him!" 

"Didn't  lick  him? — but  you  sayed  he  got  all  that 
was  comin  '- 

"Yes,  but  John  Wimmer  didn't  lick  him — he  drug 
him  out  to  the  pump  and  pumped  water  on  him! 
Jake  had  to  go  home  to  get  dry  things  on  and  when  he 
come  back " 

"I  bet  he  give  it  to  John  Wimmer  when  he  come 
back — ain't?  Why,  he  is  near  as  big  as  what  John 
is — ain't,  he  is?" 

"Yes,  he  is.  And  when  he  come  back  with  his 
Sunday  clothes  on,  he  went  fur  John  Wimmer  like 
anything — but  John  he  just  drug  him  out  to  the 
pump  again  and  pumped  him  wet  all  over  his  Sunday 
clo'es  yet!  Golly,  but  Jake  did  have  mad  at  John! 
And  John  he  toF  him,  'Better  come  with  your 
mackintosh  on  next  time  or  your  Atlantic  City 

[29] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

bathing  suit ! '     John  sayed.     *  I  don't  like  to  spoil  all 
your  suits  fur  you/  he  sayed." 

An  occasional  exception,  however,  like  the  case  of 
Jake  Gumpf,  had  not  convinced  John  that  his 
theory  was  false. 

"Principles  are  all  right  to  have,  but  a  person 
mustn't  be  stubborn  about  'em,"  he  had  explained 
his  attitude.  "I  can  see  how  it  might  be  right 
sometimes  to  steal,  to  lie — yes,  to  kill  even.  You 
can't  make  any  rule  to  fit  all  cases.  If  human  beings 
had  always  acted  on  this  idea  instead  of  holding  so 
hard  and  fast  to  rule,  a  lot  of  suffering  would  have 
been  saved  in  the  world." 

All  these  things  passed  through  Irene's  mind  as  she 
sat  on  her  front  porch  in  the  September  twilight, 
thinking  of  John  driving  up  the  road  with  Minnie 
Maus  at  his  side. 

"It  seems,"  thought  Irene,  "that  he  manages 
every  one  he  wants  to  manage.  Well,  he'll  find  out 
he  ain't  a-goin'  to  come  over  me  with  his  funny 
tricks !  If  that's  his  game — to  make  me  have  jealous 
of  that  little  Mennonite— all  right !  I'll  fix  him  !  I'll 
travel  with  Hen!  As  long  as  he  runs  with  Minnie 
I'll  run  with  Hen — and  we'll  see  who'll  give  in  first! 
I  bet  anything  it  won't  be  me!" 


[30] 


CHAPTER  III 

DON'T  you  know  why  John  Wimmer's  runnin* 
with  you?"  Henry  Maus  scornfully  twitted 
his  sister  as  he  ate  greedily  of  the  supper  she 
had  cooked  on  her  return  from  a  long,  hard  day 
at  school.  "To  make  Irene  have  jealous,  that's 
why!  Did  you  conceit  that  he  was  gone  on  you? 
Huh!" 

As  Minnie  had  no  vanity  as  to  her  personal  attrac- 
tions, she  could  readily  believe  her  brother's  interpre- 
tation of  John's  astonishing  rush  of  attentions  to  her. 
But  to  be  with  him,  to  sit  at  his  side,  to  hold  "con- 
wersations"  with  him  on  "deep  subjects,"  to  hear  his 
voice  and  look  into  his  eyes — all  this  was  such 
happiness  that,  however  short-lived  it  might  be  and 
whatever  his  reasons  for  coming  to  her,  her  starved 
life  seized  eagerly  upon  these  crumbs  of  bliss  that  fell 
to  her. 

Only  once  before  had  she  had  a  "gentleman 
friend."  But  when  her  brother  Henry  had  found  his 
easy  life  of  idleness  threatened  by  the  possibility  of 
her  marrying  and  ceasing  to  support  him  and  their 
father,  he  had  cunningly  set  himself  to  the  task  of 
breaking  off  the  engagement.  He  had  informed 
Minnie's  very  eligible  young  lover  that  if  he  married 

[31] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Minnie  he  would  have  her  father  on  his  hands  to 
support. 

"Pop  he  don't  earn  enough  to  pay  fur  his  own 
keep  and  I  ain't  workin'  to  keep  him!  No  old  dope 
fiend  fur  mine,  I  can  tell  you!  Pop's  a  dope  fiend 
yet!  Yes,  anyhow!  And  Minnie  she'd  stick  by 
Pop  no  matter  what  he  done.  He's  gettin'  her  in 
the  habit  of  dopin'  a  little! " 

This  latter  statement  had  been  an  inspiration  of 
the  moment  and  had  been  no  part  of  Henry's  planned 
propaganda  to  break  off  the  engagement. 

Though  the  menace  of  having  to  support  the 
pseudo-doctor  had  not  daunted  Minnie's  young 
man,  her  brother's  statement  that  she  was  addicted 
to  drugs  had  had  the  desired  effect.  He  had  fled 
from  her  presence  never  to  return;  and  Henry  had 
been  able  to  live  on  in  ease  and  idleness. 

Minnie  had  never  learned  why  her  lover  had 
deserted  her,  though  she  had  always  suspected  that 
Henry  had  had  a  hand  in  it.  She  would  have  been 
amazed  and  shocked  to  have  heard  her  father  called 
"a  dope  fiend."  The  accusation  was  as  untrue  of 
him  as  of  herself. 

As  she  had  supposed  herself  to  be  in  love  with  her 
betrothed,  she  had  grieved  sorely  for  a  time;  but  the 
pressing  necessity  of  her  working  to  stave  off  want,  her 
days  and  nights  crowded  with  teaching,  housekeeping, 
mending,  washing,  and  ironing,  had  given  her  small 
chance  to  indulge  her  sorrow  and  disappointment. 

During  the  past  winter  her  association  at  school 
[32] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

with  John  Wimmer  had  obliterated  the  last  scar  of 
that  first  heart  wound — though  her  adoration  of 
John  was,  she  very  well  knew,  without  hope. 

Henry  had  not  an  instant's  fear  of  John's 
attentions  to  his  sister.  He  could  not  imagine  any 
man's  preferring  so  drab  a  creature  as  Minnie  to 
dashing,  gorgeous  Irene  Laub.  So  he  welcomed  the 
little  farce  that  gave  him  a  temporary  advantage  over 
his  successful  rival.  The  only  trouble  about  it  was 
that  keeping  company  with  Irene  was  expensive. 
It  cost  more  money  than  Minnie  could  possibly 
spare.  Ever  since  the  last  time  he  had,  under 
threats  tof  violence,  extracted  from  her  three  dollars 
with  which  to  take  Irene  to  town  to  a  movie  and  a 
soda  fountain,  Minnie  had  had  no  money  to  buy 
meat  and  the  butcher  would  not  give  them  credit. 
Henry  did  not  enjoy  vegetarianism. 

John  found  his  self-imposed  torment  in  staying 
away  from  his  beloved  not  without  its  compensations 
in  the  surprising  discovery  he  made  through  his  atten- 
tions to  Minnie.  He  learned  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  what  comradeship  can  mean,  the  interchange  of 
ideas  with  a  mind  as  earnest  as  his  own.  It  was  a 
novel  and  a  delightful,  even  an  exciting  experience  to 
him. 

"I  never  would  have  thought,"  he  told  Minnie  at 
the  end  of  a  long  evening,  "  what  enjoyment  there  is 
in  conwersation ! " 

He  and  Irene  had  never,  just  to  say,  "conwersed 
together";  they  had  sat  and  looked  at  each  other; 

[S3] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

held  hands  and  fondled  each  other;  made  talk  per- 
functorily or  disputed  foolishly  over  some  triviality. 
John  had  never  even  tried  to  talk  to  her  of  the 
things  he  pondered  in  his  heart;  of  giving  her,  as  he 
found  he  could  give  Minnie,  his  serious  reflections  and 
convictions  about  life.  He  was  finding  it  the  greatest 
thing  he  had  ever  known,  this  comradeship  with  "a 
kindred  mind." 

vAnd  yet,  through  it  all,  there  was  never  a  moment 
when  his  flesh  and  his  blood  did  not  cry  out  for 
Irene;  for  the  fulness  and  richness  of  her  ripe  woman- 
hood; her  beauty;  the  touch  of  her  soft  satin  skin;  the 
warmth  and  glow  of  her  whole  personality.  With  all 
the  strength  of  his  manhood  he  yearned  for  her. 

"Now  if  only  I  could  talk  with  Irene  like  what  I 
can  with  Minnie,  what  a  wife  she'd  make  me!"  he 
sometimes  thought  on  his  homeward  drive  after  an 
kour  with  the  little  Mennonite  girl. 

It  was  a  significant  fact  (which,  however,  escaped 
his  notice)  that  although  he  often  wished  he  might 
improve  Irene  by  giving  her  Minnie's  sympathetic 
understanding,  he  never  thought  of  wishing  that  he 
could  impose  Irene's  flamboyant  beauty  upon 
Minnie's  expressive  delicacy.  He  felt  too  keenly  the 
lovely  harmony  of  Minnie's  outward  and  inner  self. 

It  was  because  of  his  lack  of  personal  conceit  that 
it  never  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  be  jeopardiz- 
ing Minnie's  happiness  in  the  wonderful  friendship  he 
was  enjoying  with  her.  He  no  more  dreamed  of 
her  falling  in  love  with  him  than  he  thought  of  falling 

[34] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

in  love  with  her.  Supremely  contented  in  her 
presence  though  he  was,  she  never  kindled  a  spark  in 
him;  and  he  never  suspected  that  she  herself  was  on 
fire. 

They  talked  one  evening  about  her  father  as  they 
strolled  together  through  a  country  lane. 

"You  ain't  so  dumb,  I'm  sure,  as  to  believe  he 
can  heal  sickness,  are  you,  Minnie?" 

"I  believe  that  some  of  the  sick  people  that  come 
to  him  heal  themselves  by  their  faith  in  him." 

"That  might  be,"  John  granted. 

"It  seems  so  much  as  if  he  did  cure  folks  that  I 
used  to  believe  he  did — till  here  one  day  a  woman 
came  to  have  her  boy's  warts  taken  off  by  father's 
powwow  words.  Well,  father  wasn't  home.  But 
the  next  week  the  warts  began  to  disappear  anyhow. 
Now  if  father  had  been  home,  you  see,  we'd  all  have 
thought  the  powwow  words  had  done  it." 

"Of  course — when  it  was  merely  co-in-ci-dence," 
agreed  John. 

"Yes,"  said  Minnie  brightly,  "that's  the  thing  it 
was — what  you  said.  So  after  that  I  noticed  it  was 
nearly  always — co — that — or  else  mind  cure.  But 
father  thinks  he's  got  power  from  God." 

"Here  the  other  week,"  said  John,  "my  father 
went  to  him  to  ask  him  about  his  cows  that  used  to 
give  $100  worth  of  milk  a  month  and  now  give  only 
$40  worth.  And  your  father  said  to  be  sure  he  could 
fix  that  all  right — and  he  took  and  wrote  on  a  piece 
of  paper,  Jesus  Christ  the  same  yesterday,  to-day  and 

[35] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

forever,  and  put  the  paper  under  the  barn  door-sill, 
that  the  cows  walk  over.  Funny  thing,  Minnie, 
those  cows  are  giving  more  milk!  They  are  for 
sure!  7  don't  understand  it !" 

"It  can't  be  mind  cure,"  smiled  Minnie. 

"Then  it  comes  under  our  old  friend  co-in-ci-dence; 
ain't?" 

"Yes,  I  guess." 

"And  I  guess  a  good  many  cures  of  the  regular 
doctors  could  come  under  that  head,  too — co-in-ci- 
dence!" 

"But,"  said  Minnie  pensively,'  "father  is  not 
respected  like  a  real  doctor  is." 

"For  all  he  ain't  much  worse!" 

"And,"  said  Minnie  wistfully,  "he  does  so  believe 
in  himself,  John,  that  I  pity  him  that  he  ain't  re- 
spected." 

"The  reason  he  ain't  respected  is  because  he  don't 
work  and  earn  a  living  for  his  family  like  other  men. 
He  oughtn't  to  live  off  of  you,  Minnie.  It  makes  me 
indignant!" 

"It  ain't  that  he's  mean,  though — like — like 
Henny.  It's  just  that  he's  sort  of  helpless." 

"I  know.  But  it's  hard  on  you  just  the  same. 
You  ain't  lucky  in  your  folks,  Minnie,  are  you?" 
said  John  sympathetically. 

"I  wouldn't  say  that  about  father — I  like  him 
pretty  well,  John.  Henny,  though,  is  an  awful 
hardship  to  me." 

"If  it  wasn't  for  your  father  you  could  shake  Hen 
[36] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVTLLE 

easily  enough.  You  could  just  let  housekeeping  and 
go  to  the  Aotel." 

"But  what  would  become  of  Henny?" 

"Would  that  worry  you  any?'* 

"Well,  not  so  very  much,"  Minnie  doubtfully 
admitted. 

"Hen's  got  to  support  himself  some  time.  He 
can't  always  live  on  you ! " 

"I  wouldn't  so  much  mind  supporting  him  if  he 
was  only  good  to  me." 

"I  know,"  said  John,  his  face  suddenly  flushing 
red  as  he  recalled  the  morning  that  Minnie  had  come 
to  school  with  a  black  bruise  on  her  cheek.  "I  took 
notice,  too,  since  I've  been  going  to  your  house  lately, 
Minnie,  how  Hen  won't  ever  do  a  hand's  turn  for 
you!  Here  this  evening — to  see  you  chopping  wood 
and  him  loafing  in  a  hammock,  was  most  too  much 
for  me !  You  better  warn  Hen  that  it  won't  be  good 
for  his  health  to  get  me  too  hot  by  things  like 
that!" 

Minnie  was  so  unused  to  sympathy  for  her 
trials  and  wrongs,  for  her  starved  and  burdened 
girlhood,  that  the  experience  was  inexpressibly  sweet 
to  her  and  her  face  softened  and  brightened  with 
happiness  as  John  talked. 

"Even  if  your  father  does  live  on  you,  he  ought  to 
make  Hen  get  out  and  work,"  continued  John. 

"Father  can't,  John.  He  never  could  control 
Henny." 

"You  oughtn't  to  give  Hen  any  of  your  money, 
[37J 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Minnie.  It's  bad  enough  that  you  do  cook  and 
wash  and  iron  and  clean  for  him!" 

"I  know  I  oughtn't  to,  but " 

"Don't  you  be  one  of  these  poor-spirited  females 
that  leaves  a  male  trample  on  you — you're  too  good 
for  it!" 

Minnie  did  not  reply.  She  could  not  explain  to 
John  how  it  was  at  home.  She  was  afraid  to. 

She  wondered  whether  some  of  his  animosity  to- 
ward Henry  were  not  due  to  jealousy  of  her  brother's 
attentions,  just  now,  to  Irene. 

But  if  in  this  surmise  she  was  right,  John  himself 
was  not  aware  of  it.  He  thought  he  had  quite 
recovered  from  the  jealous  rage  he  had  suffered  the 
day  of  the  circus;  he  was  sure  he  knew  his  beloved  far 
too  well  to  have  any  fears  of  her  throwing  herself 
away  on  a  worthless  ruffian  like  Hen  Maus. 

What  he  did  not  know,  however,  and  would  have 
considered  inconceivable,  was  that  Irene,  though 
chaffing  frantically  at  her  lover's  continued  alienation 
and  irritated  in  her  vanity  at  his  open  attentions  to 
another  girl,  nevertheless  found  Henry  attractive — 
much  more  so  than  she  found  her  betrothed. 

Inasmuch  as  John,  in  all  his  intercourse  with 
Minnie,  never  once  mentioned  Irene's  name,  Minnie 
was  left  in  painful  doubt  as  to  his  feelings  and 
*' intentions" — as  to  whether  his  visits  and  their 
walks,  drives,  and  talks  were  "for  really"  or  only,  as 
Henry  insisted,  intended  to  punish  Irene. 

Minnie  struggled  against  hoping  or  believing  that 
[38] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

John  was  in  love  with  her,  for  that  would  make  it  all 
the  harder  when  he  left  her  and  went  back  to  Irene. 
But  even  while  she  tried  not  to  hope  for  the  happi- 
ness that  seemed  to  hang  so  near  her  reach,  she 
endeavoured  at  the  same  time  to  make  some  of 
John's  ideals  her  own.  Her  brother  was  the  first  to 
feel  the  effect  of  this. 

"I  need  some  cash — come  on  and  hand  it  over,'* 
Henry  gruffly  said  to  her  on  the  morning  after 
John's  advice  to  her  not  to  "be  one  of  those  poor- 
spirited  females  to  leave  a  male  trample  on  you." 
"You're  too  good  for  it!"  John  had  said.  Minnie 
would  never  forget  that  he  had  said  that. 

It  was  Saturday  and  as  there  was  no  school  she  was 
doing  the  family  washing  on  the  back  porch. 

""Will  you  fill  that  tub  with  water  for  me?"  she 
asked  Henry  in  response  to  his  demand,  her  lips 
quivering  a  little  at  her  own  audacity;  for  Henry 
resented  being  asked  to  do  menial  jobs  and  his 
resentment  was  apt  to  take  very  unpleasant  forms. 

"Will  I  which?"  he  asked  incredulously. 

"Fill  both  these  tubs  for  me,"  repeated  Minnie, 
getting  bolder  with  time.  "I  get  it  so  ugly  in  my 
back  carrying  water." 

"  Did  you  hear  what  I  sayed  to  you?  I  want  some 
cash .  Go  get  me  some  and  be  darned  quick  about  it ! " 

"I  can't  spare  you  any.  The  General  Store  won't 
give  me  credit  any  more  till  I  pay  what  I  owe  already. 
So  I  got  to  have  ready  money,  or  we  go  without 
food." 

[391 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"You  got  paid  yesterday.  You  can  anyhow 
spare  me  a  dollar." 

"No,  Hen,  I  can't.  If  you  want  spending  money 
you'll  have  to  work  and  earn  it." 

"I'll  show  you  if  you  can't!"  he  said  threateningly, 
lifting  his  big  hand;  but  she  turned  a  look  upon  him 
that  made  him  pause.  Ever  since  that  time  he  had 
struck  her  in  the  face  and  the  school  board  had 
notified  her  that  until  her  face  no  longer  flaunted  the 
disgraceful  signs  of  "a  fight,"  she  must  stay  home 
from  school  and  pay  a  substitute,  he  had  been  careful 
to  deal  out  his  blows  in  such  a  way  that  they  did  not 
react  against  himself  so  disastrously  as  to  deprive 
him  of  food  and  drink. 

He  dropped  his  lifted  hand;  but  he  seized  her  arms 
and  twisted  them  viciously. 

"Now  where's  your  money  at?     Tell  me!" 

"I  won't  tell  you." 

He  dug  his  nails  into  the  bared  flesh  of  her 
arms  until  she  cried  out  and  the  tears  rose  to  her 
eyes. 

In  response  to  her  cry  there  appeared  in  the  kitchen 
doorway  the  slender,  almost  emaciated  form  of  "the 
Doc,"  a  long-haired,  long-bearded,  fanatical  looking 
old  man,  with  the  unseeing  eyes  of  one  who  lives  in 
dreams  and  the  weak  lips  and  chin  of  a  man  of  no 
force  of  character.  His  clothes  were  patched  and 
threadbare  and  his  shoes  out  at  the  toes,  but  he  had 
strangely  the  look  of  something  he  was  not — a 
scholar  and  a  "reduced  gentleman." 

[40J 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Come,  come,  Henny,"  he  protested  anxiously. 
"  Don't  be  so  rough !  Don't  hurt  Minnie ! " 

"Where  have  you  it  put?"  repeated  Henry,  ignor- 
ing his  father.  "Answer  up  if  you  don't  want  some 
more!" 

"I  won't  tell  you  and  if  you 

But  her  words  ended  in  a  scream  as  he  twisted  and 
pinched  her  arms  again. 

"Henny!"  cried  the  "Doctor"  piteously.  "Leave 
her  be,  Henny!" 

"Want  some  more?  If  you  don't,  speak  out! 
Where's  that  money  at?" 

"Tell  him,  Minnie!"  begged  her  father.  "Better 
tell  him  sooner 'n  get  him  so  spited!" 

"He  shall  not  take  my  money,  father!" 

"But  you  know  he'll  get  it  off  of  you  in  the  end,  so 
you  may  as  well  give  it  to  him  before  you  get  hurt  any 
more." 

"Father,  won't  you  help  me?  Won't  you  go  to 
the  phone  and  call  up  John  Wimmer  and  tell  him  to 
come  here  as  soon  as  he  otherwise  can?  "  was  Minnie's 
bold  and  astonishing  request. 

"What  do  you  want  of  John  Wimmer?"  quavered 
her  father. 

"He'll  protect  me  from  Henry!" 

"But,  Minnie,"  protested  her  father  in  distress, 
"I  don't  want  no  fightin'  round  here!  It  would  hurt 
my  practice!" 

"His  'practice'!"  cried  Henry  derisively,  recover- 
ing from  his  breathless  amazement  at  Minnie's 

[411 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

unwonted  spirit.  "Get  on  to  his  callin'  it  his 
'practice'  yet!  Whose  loss  would  it  be  if  your  old 
practice  did  get  hurt!  Not  ourn!  We  don't  get  no 
good  out  of  your  practice!  If  you  charged  big  fees 
fur  your  damned  powwowing,  you  might  call  it  your 
*  practice.'  Helpin'  other  ones  all  the  time  and 
leavin'  your  own  family  starve!  Och,  you  make  me 
sick!" 

"I  can't  charge  money  fur  doin'  the  Lord's  work, 
Henny.  Jesus  Christ  never  charged  no  fees  and 
neither  kin  I." 

"Aw,  dry  up — and  stop  your  interferin'  between 
me  and  Min!  Go  on!"  he  motioned  the  old  man 
away  threateningly. 

The  Doctor  turned  away,  cowed,  and  went  slowly 
back  into  the  house. 

"Now,  look-a-here,  Minnie,"  pursued  Henry, 
"you  tell  me  where  you  are  got  that  there  money  or 
I'll  tie  you  up  in  the  cellar  till  I  find  it ! " 

"  You  can't  find  it.     I've  got  it  hid  too  safe." 

"Then  I'll  pinch  you  till  you  tell  me  where  it's 
hid!" 

"Then  I'll  scream  for  help  till  the  neighbours 
come  in!" 

Henry  stared  at  her  incredulously.  Could  this  be 
his  meek  and  lowly  sister  whom  he  had  always  found 
it  so  easy  to  bully? 

"Huh!  It's  John  Wimmer's  made  you  so  spunky 
all  of  a  suddint.  Ain't  it  is?" 

"Yes.    It  is." 

[42] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"A  body'd  think  you'd  have  a  shamed  face  to  put 
it  out  how  you're  gone  on  another  girl's  fellah!" 
Henry  taunted  her. 

"If  you  want  your  clothes  washed  and  ironed  to- 
day, you'd  better  leave  me  get  to  work,"  was  Min- 
nie's reply.  "Oh !"  she  cried  in  agony  as  he  responded 
by  another  pinch  and  twist  that  drove  the  colour 
from  her  lips. 

"Where's  that  there  money? " 

"I  better  tell  you,  Henny,  that  if  John  Wimmer 
hears  of  your  hurting  me  he  is  going  to  carry  you  out 
to  their  farm  and  tie  you  up  in  the  barn  and  cowhide 
you!  He  says  he's  going  to!" 

It  was  Henry's  turn  now  to  turn  white  to  the 
lips.  Hessville  had  learned  to  believe  that  when 
John  Wimmer  said  he  would  do  a  thing,  he  generally 
did  it. 

"Him  talkin'  about  cowhidin'  his  neighbours  yet, 
when  he  puts  it  out  that  he  don't  uphold  to  corp'al 
punishment!" 

"He  don't  believe  in  corporal  punishment  for — 
human  beings.  But  he  says  sometimes  it's  the  only 
thing  you  can  do  with — with  brutes!" 

"A  pretty  Mennonite  you  are,  callin'  your '  own 
brother  a  brute !  " 

"Then  don't  act  as  if  you  were  one." 

"John  Wimmer  wouldn't  never  know  what  I  done 
to  you  if  you  didn't  up  and  tell  him — and  I  guess  you 
wouldn't  near  do  a  thing  like  that  there — get  him  to 
lick  your  own  brother!" 

[43] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"When  did  you  ever  act  like  my  own  brother  to 
me?" 

"Look-a-here,  now,  I  had  enough  of  your  lip! 
Whether  I  acted  like  a  lovin'  brother  or  whether  I 
didn't,  you  gimme  that  there  money  and  no  more 
words  about  it !  Come  on ! " 

"No." 

Again  Henry  lifted  his  hand  to  strike  and  again 
Minnie  stopped  him  with  a  look. 

"  If  you  strike  me  I'll  tell  John ! " 

"Aw,  you're  kiddin'!  /  ain't  afraid  you'll  tell 
him.  You  and  your  old  John  Wimmer,  you " 

He  called  her  a  foul  name  which  brought  a  crimson 
tide  to  her  white  face. 

"Leave  go  my  arms!"  she  said  in  an  ominously 
quiet  voice — so  ominously  quiet,  indeed,  that  in 
sheer  bewilderment  Henry  dropped  his  hands  from 
her  quivering  flesh  and  stared  at  her  open-mouthed. 

"Now,  then,"  she  said,  still  speaking  very  quietly, 
"if  you  ever  lay  your  hands  on  me  again,  I'll  not  only 
tell  John — I'll  help  him  tie  you  up  in  his  barn!" 

She  turned  back  to  her  tubs  and  went  on  with  her 
work. 

And  Henry,  feeling  himself  suddenly  confronted 
by  a  new  and  unknown  force  in  this  sister  of  his,  the 
existence  of  which  he  had  never  even  suspected, 
slunk  away  like  a  beaten  cur.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  had  been  foiled  of  his  will  in  his  own  home. 


[44] 


CHAPTER  IV 

TO  HESSVILLE  came,  one  day,  in  a  limousine 
and  fur  coats,  the  Social  Welfare  Workers 
from  the  city,  to  uplift  the  life  of  the  villagers; 
invading  the  school  house  first — "Begin  with  the 
Child,  working  up  through  the  Child  to  the  Heart  of 
the  Parent" — and  instituting  a  tooth  brush  cam- 
paign— a  prize  to  be  given  to  the  child  who  most  en- 
thusiastically and  persistently  plied  the  tooth  brush, 
and  who  guided  his  or  her  benighted  parents  to  the 
same  high  plane — "To  elevate  the  Home  Standards 
of  the  People,"  explained  one  of  the  fur-clad  lim- 
ousine ladies  to  the  schoolmaster. 

"'The  People'?"  repeated  John  questioningly — 
hie  was  one  of  those  old-fashioned  products  of  our 
public  schools  who  believe  in  our  Declaration  of 
Independence,  our  Emancipation  Proclamation— 
"All  men  are  created  free  and  equal." 

"Ain't  you  one  of  'the  People'?"  he  searchingly 
inquired  of  the  smiling,  gracious  lady  who  yearned 
to  inject  sweetness  and  light  into  darkest  Hessville — 
by  way  of  the  Tooth  Brush. 

He  gathered  from  her  reply  that  by  "the  People" 
she  meant  those  who  did  not  use  tooth  brushes.  It 
seemed  that  the  Tooth  Brush  would  inoculate  the 
Child  against  the  germ  of  Bolshevism. 

[45] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"To  educate  the  Child  in  Good  Citizenship  will 
remove  the  menace." 

"And  good  citzenship  means  using  tooth  brushes — 
do  I  get  you?"  asked  the  schoolmaster  solemnly. 

"It's  quite  fundamental — the  use  of  the  tooth 
brush,"  replied  the  lady  firmly. 

"All  right — if  you  think.  But  there's  no  telling 
where  they  may  lead  to — tooth  brushes.  Next 
thing  they'll  want  their  hands  so  manicured  to  make 
them  good  citizens;  and  daily  baths  and  daily  change 
of  clothes  and  other  'decencies,'  as  you  call  them — 
decencies  that  will  mean  they've  got  to  have  a  lot 
more  time  and  money  than  any  one  in  Hesswille's 
got  now.  It  looks  to  me,"  said  John,  shaking  his 
head,  "that  tooth  brushes  will  lead  straight  to 
Bolshevism,  not  away  from  it!  Better  leave  tooth 
brushes  be!" 

"If  I  thought  that,"  the  lady,  looking  alarmed, 
faltered  in  her  high  purpose. 

But  her  companion,  a  vigorous,  robust  Major- 
General  sort  of  a  woman,  answered  John. 

"Through  our  Social  Welfare  Workers,  tooth 
brushes  have  been  firmly  established  in  many  homes 
of  the  People  without,  thus  far,  producing  a  revo- 
lutionary spirit  of  unrest.  You  are  over-apprehen- 
sive, my  good  man!" 

"All  right — go  to  it — if  you  think  it's  safe,"  John 
yielded  them  right  of  way  in  his  schoolroom.  "It 
anyhow  gives  you  city  ladies  something  to  put  in 
your  time  at." 

[461 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

On  their  second  visit,  three  weeks  later,  to  in- 
vestigate Hessville's  progress  toward  Good  Citizen- 
ship, they  found  the  results  of  their  campaign  rather 
discouraging. 

"I  didn't  have  no  need  to  buy  no  tooth  brush — 
Pop  had  one  I  could  use." 

"Mom  says  it's  too  much  trouble — it's  every  day 
all  of  us  hollerin'  at  oncet,  'Mom,  where's  the  tooth 
brush  at?'" 

"My  Pop  says  he  has  tired  of  hearin'  us  scrappin* 
over  whose  turn  it  is  to  use  the  tooth  brush ! " 

The  domestic  tranquillity  of  Hessville  had  been 
threatened  by  tooth  brushes. 

The  Welfare  Workers  did  not,  however,  stop  at 
tooth  brushes.  Observing  that  the  schoolmaster's 
assistant  teacher  wore  the  plain  garb  of  her  New 
Mennonite  faith,  they  became  greatly  agitated  lest 
the  embryo  citizens  in  the  Hessville  school  become 
religiously  corrupted. 

They  appealed  to  the  school  board. 

"If  you  allow  a  teacher  wearing  the  Mennonite 
garb  to  teach  your  children  and  subtly  insinuate  her 
Mennonite  doctrines  into  the  young  budding  minds 
of  Hessville,  how  can  you  consistently  forbid  a 
Roman  Catholic  sister,  for  instance,  to  become  one  of 
your  teachers?" 

"You  mean  such  a  Romish  lady  brought  up  in 
Poppery?"  demanded  a  school  director  in  consterna- 
tion. 

The  result  was  the  passing  of  the  Garb  Law.  No 
[47] 


one  wearing  a  religious  garb  could  teach  in  Hess- 
ville. 

It  was  a  two-fold  tragedy  to  Minnie  Maus  to  lose 
her  place  as  John  Wimmer's  assistant.  It  left  her  and 
her  family  without  any  income;  and  it  robbed  her 
of  the  ecstasy  of  daily  association  with  the  school- 
master. 

Henry  was  the  one  to  feel  it  most  deeply.  The 
Doctor  never  worried  about  the  wherewithal  to  live 
and  Minnie  was  used  to  doing  without  things  she 
wanted.  But  Henry  liked  good  meals,  good  clothes, 
and  pocket  money.  He  was  in  despair. 

"Why  don't  you  cut  it  out — them  ugly  Mennonite 
clo'es  you  wear?  What  good  does  your  darned  old 
religion  do  you  anyhow?"  he  reasoned  with  her. 
"It  would  be  a  deal  more  Christian  fur  you  to  keep 
your  good  job  fur  the  sake  of  your  fambly!" 

"Is  your  Mennonite  faith  such  a  wital  matter  to 
you,  Minnie,"  John  asked  her,  "that  you  can't  give 
up  your  garb  and  keep  your  place  in  my  school?  I 
hate  to  think  of  another  assistant  in  your  place.  I'm 
so  used  to  you.  And  I  like  your  ways  with  the  little 
scholars.  I  don't  know  how  I'll  stand  it  if  I  get  some- 
one in  my  school  that  hollers  at  the  children  or 
wants  to  administer  corporal  punishment." 

John's  phraseology  was  sometimes  pedagogic. 
Minnie  greatly  admired  his  lapses  into  the  stilted 
speech  which  was  the  evidence  to  her  of  his  superior 
education. 

"I  can't  give  up  my  faith  for  lucre,  John,"  she 
[481 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

replied,  her  white,  scared  face  touching  his  sym- 
pathies. 

"Then  what  will  you  do,  Minnie?" 

"I'll  try  sewing.  I'm  a  pretty  good  seamster. 
But — but — I'll  miss  seeing  you  every  day!"  she  said 
brokenly. 

"You're  like  a  dear  little  sister  to  me!"  he  returned 
kindly.  "I  certainly  will  miss  you  at  school, 
Minnie!" 

It  was  after  the  loss  of  Minnie's  position  that 
Doctor  Maus's  unprofitable  patients  were,  more  than 
ever,  an  irritation  to  Henry.  Whenever  he  en- 
countered them  about  his  home  he  treated  them 
with  brutal  incivility.  But  this  did  not,  unfortu- 
nately, move  them  to  give  more  generous  fees  for  the 
healer's  services;  it  only  served,  in  most  cases,  to 
drive  them  away  in  high  indignation. 

There  was  the  case  of  the  girl  seventeen  years  old, 
weighing  two  hundred  pounds,  bearing  the  Christian 
name  of  "Birdie,"  whose  grandfather  brought  her 
from  Fokendauqua,  twenty  miles  distant,  to  ask  the 
doctor  whether  fat  could  be  reduced  in  answer  to 
prayer.  Henry,  passing  through  "the  front  room" 
during  his  father's  interview  with  Miss  Birdie 
Medenwald  and  her  grandfather,  spoke  in  rudely. 

"I'll  tell  you  how  you  kin  reduce — give  my  pop 
what  you  spend  on  feedin*  your  face  to  stuff  your 
stom-meek!  That's  the  best  purscription  fur  you, 
Side-Show!" 

"I'm  sorry  to  say,"  the  doctor  sorrowfully  com- 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

mented  as  his  son  flung  himself  out  of  the  room, 
"that  our  Penny's  an  t/n-believer.  Don't  you  pay 
no  attention  to  him.  We  know  that  all  things  is 
possible  to  him  that  believeth.  If  you  will  pray  with 
me  and  ast  God  to  reduce  your  flesh  forty-five 
pounds  at  a  time  and  believe  that  He  kin,  it  will  be 
did." 

"I  purfur  that  method  to  takin*  Anti-Fat,"  said 
the  grandfather,  "fur  that  there  Anti-Fat  comes 
wery  high  by  the  quart  bottle." 

"And  prayin'  don't  cost  you  nothing,"  agreed  the 
doctor.  "'Salwation's  free,  that  just  suits  me/  as 
the  poet  says." 

"That  ain't  what  your  son  seems  to  think,"  Mr. 
Medenwald  remarked  suspiciously. 

"Yes,  well,  my  son  he's  a  little  keen  on  the  penny, 
that  way.  Don't  pay  no  attention  to  him." 

"So  many  of  my  family  have  died  off  fur  me  from 
takin'  that  there  Anti-Fat,"  said  Mr.  Medenwald; 
"my  brother  was  carried  out,  my  two  sisters  was 
carried  out,  and  last  month  my  wife  went  out,  too." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  replied  the  doctor  sympathetically, 
"they  have  died  off  pretty  well — your  fambly. 
Lack  of  faith  in  prayer,"  he  diagnosed  conclusively. 

"We  seen  a  lot  of  trouble  a'ready!"  sighed  Birdie. 

"Och,  yes,"  responded  the  sympathetic  doctor, 
" and  ain't  trouble  an  unpleasant  thing! " 

"Yes,  ain't!"  agreed  Birdie.  "But,"  she  added 
piously,  "if  it  has  to  be,  then  so  it  has  to  be.  It  is  as 
it  is." 

[501 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Did  your  parents  die  off,  too,  Birdie?"  the 
doctor  inquired  conversationally. 

"Yes,  my  parents  don't  none  of  them  live.  So  I 
housekeep  fur  Gran'pop." 

"Then  you  ain't  married?" 

"No,  I  got  my  right  name  yet." 

"Now,  will  you  tell  me,"  pursued  the  doctor, 
taking  from  his  breast-pocket  a  professional  looking 
tablet  and  a  pencil,  "what  is  your  initial?" 

"I  ain't  got  none,"  responded  Birdie. 

"Ain't  you  got  no  Christian  name?" 

"Yes.     Birdie." 

"B,"  repeated  the  doctor,  writing  it  down. 

"Didn't  you  know  what  your  initial  meant, 
Birdie?"  asked  her  grandfather  reproachfully. 

"Was  your  ancestry  so  fleshy,  too,  like  yous  all?" 
inquired  the  doctor  to  cover  Birdie's  ignorance. 

"Whether  my  ancestry  was  fleshy?"  repeated 
Birdie.  "Och,  I  don't  know  right.  They  never 
bothered  me  any — my  ancestry." 

"They  was  from  Out,"  explained  her  grandfather 
with  a  backward  twirl  of  his  thumb  to  indicate 
Europe — usually  referred  to  by  the  Pennsylvania 
Dutch  as  "Out." 

"Don't  yous  have  sich  a  fambly  history  traced?" 
inquired  the  doctor  of  Mr.  Medenwald. 

"I  believe  there  was  one  traced,  prior  to  my 
great  grandparents'  &dwent  to  America.  But  that 
I  can't  relate  you.  If  Missus  had  stayed  living  she 
could  better  relate  you  that — about  our  ancestry.  I 

[511 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

did  hear  a'ready  that  three  Medenwald  come  over 
from  Out  in  1725.  Not  so,  Birdie?"  he  appealed  to 
his  granddaughter. 

"You  can't  prove  it  by  me,  Gran'pop." 

"Och,  well,"  the  doctor  reassured  them,  "it  makes 
nothing — your  ancestry.  Faith  in  God  is  what 
makes.  That's  what  will  reduce  your  fleshiness, 
Birdie." 

"Birdie  she's  got  it  so  in  her  nerves,"  said  Mr. 
Medenwald.  "Her  nerves  is  wonderful!  And  I  had 
afraid  to  buy  her  any  of  that  there  Anti-Fat;  so  I 
sayed,  'We'll  try  Doc  Maus  oncet — it's  cheaper,'  I 
sayed." 

"And  safer,"  added  the  doctor. 

"And  thinks  I  to  myself,"  continued  Mr.  Meden- 
wald, "if  the  Doc  kin  pray  off  Birdie's  fat  oncet,  I'll 
leave  him  have  a  try  at  my  eyes.  My  eyes  ain't  so 
good  this  while  back;  and  I'm  only  seventy-four 
goin'  on  seventy-five.  My  Missus  she  had  so 
young  glasses,  too.  Her  and  me  we  was  almost  alike 
old — both  seventy-four.  This  right  eye  is  darker'n 
what  this  here  left  eye  is.  You're  so  cloudy,  Doc, 
through  this  here  right  eye,  I  can't  har'ly  see 
you." 

"  Christ  kin  restore  sight  to-day  the  same  as  in  the 
bygone  ancient  times  in  the  past  when  He  was  on 
earth,"  the  doctor  affirmed. 

"Yes,  I  heerd  a'ready,  Doc,  you  made  wonderful 
cures." 

"Not  me,  but  Christ  through  me.'* 
[521 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"I  heerd  you  helped  simple  Sally  Diffendeffer  so 
good — her  that  wasn't  quite  sharp.  I  heerd  you 
prayed  her  near  as  sensible  as  other  ones." 

"Yes — yes — prais-ed  be  God!"  exclaimed  the 
doctor  fervently. 

"And  now  that  we  are  got  our  Ford  it  is  wery 
conwenient  fur  us  to  come  over  here,"  added  Mr. 
Medenwald. 

"Yes,"  nodded  the  doctor,  "and  I  always  think 
when  it's  more  conwenient  it's  so  much  handier." 

"Yes,  ain't!"  Birdie  heartily  assented. 

"It's  twenty  mile  from  Hessville  to  Fokendauqua 
and  we  made  it  in  an  hour  and  a  hah*,"  said  Mr. 
Medenwald  boastfully,  "with  our  Ford." 

"  Whew ! "  exclaimed  the  doctor. 

"Yes,  ain't!"  cried  Mr.  Medenwald. 

"What's  the  population,  now,  of  Fokendauqua?'* 
inquired  the  doctor  sociably. 

"It  ain't  got  none,"  said  Mr.  Medenwald. 

"It  must  be  a  lonesome  place,"  said  the  doctor 
thoughtfully. 

"Yes,  I  do  often  have  lonesome,"  Birdie  com- 
plained. "And  I  guess  that  makes  something,  too, 
at  the  fat;  ain't?" 

"Prayer  with  faith  can  remove  mountains," 
returned  the  doctor  encouragingly.  "What  do  you 
eat  mostly,  Birdie?" 

"Och,  I  eat  most  anything." 

"Fried  sauer-kraut,  mebby,  sometimes?" 

"Whether  I  eat  fried  sauer-kraut?  Well,  I  kin  eat  it, 
[531 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

but  I  never  get  hungry  fur  it.     I  have  preference  to 
fried  pumpkin." 

"She  favours  potatoes,  too.  She's  wery  partial  to 
smashed  potatoes  with  butter  and  milk  at,"  said  her 
grandfather.  "But  our  potato  crop  this  year  give  so 
many  potato  bugs!" 

"Yes — there  ain't  no  race  suicide  among  potato 
bugs — ain't?"  smiled  the  doctor. 

"Well,  I  guess  anyhow  not ! "  cried  Mr.  Medenwald 
with  a  loud  laugh.  "  Some  joker  you  are,  Doc,  ain't?  " 

"Och,  yes,  I'm  always  crackin'  jokes.  Why,  I 
even  crack  the  Bible  in  jokes  yet  to  my  patients! 
It  makes  an  m-delible  impression!" 

"Yes,  I  guess!  Well,  now,  Doc,"  Mr.  Medenwald 
concluded,  rising,  "I  got  to  git  back  home  till  before 
dark  a'ready,  so  I  guess  we  better  git  busy  at  the 
prayin' .  Does  it  take  long — the  prayin'  ?  " 

"No — I'll  make  it  a  short  and  snappy  prayer,'* 
said  the  doctor  obligingly.  "You  must  remember 
now,  Birdie,  that  God  will  help  you  get  rid  of  your 
fat  only  if  you  believe  that  He  ain't  stingy." 

"I  know  He  ain't  been  stingy  to  me  about  givin* 
me  flesh  a-plenty,"  said  Birdie,  her  tone  not  notice- 
ably grateful  for  God's  generosity  in  this  respect. 

"Another  thing,"  added  the  doctor,  "if  at  first  you 
seem  to  be  taking  on  more  flesh — three  or  four 
pounds  or  so — you  kin  know  it's  only  a  trick  of 
Satan  to  weaken  your  faith.  You  persewere  in 
prayer  and  faith  and  you'll  git  a  wery  neat  figger  till 
a  little  while  a'ready." 

[54] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Must  we  come  often  over,  or  kin  we  do  the 
pray  in'  at  home?  "  asked  the  grandfather. 

"If  it  don't  suit  you  always  to  come,  leave  Birdie 
send  me  her  undershirt  over  and  I  magnetize  that 
undershirt  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  Jesus  and  then 
I  send  it  back  to  her  and  she  puts  it  on  and  her  flesh 
reduces." 

"But  I  like  the  ride  over,"  said  Birdie  rebelliously. 
"Our  Ford  autymobile  makes  so  quick — twenty 
mile  in  a  hour  and  a  half  yet!  Yi,  yi,  but  she  runs! 
Yes,  I  like  to  come.  Fokendauqua  is  so  lonesome, 
still,  and  so  slow.  It  has  more  lively  here  in  Hess- 
wille." 

"Does  your  son  often  come  round  sassin*  your 
patients  like  what  he  done  to-day?"  asked  Mr. 
Medenwald  warily. 

"Sometimes  he  comes  often,"  the  doctor  sadly 
admitted. 

"Then,  Birdie,  you  better  send  your  undershirt 
over  and  try  what  it  will  make." 

"Look-a-here,  yous!"  Henry  suddenly  burst  into 
the  room  from  the  kitchen  where  he  had  been  eaves- 
dropping, "if  yous  want  this  here  heavyweight  to  git 
thin,  yous'll  pay  fur  it! — or  she'll  stay  fat!  I  make 
you  a  bargain — fur  every  ten  pound  she  reduces,  the 
Doc  gits  a  dollar.  Ten  cents  a  pound.  And  if  you 
don't  pay  up,  the  ten  pounds  is  prayed  back  onto  her 
agin." 

"No,  Henny,  no,"  gently  protested  his  father, 
"you  can't  drive  bargains  with  God.  If  them  that 

[55] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

I  help  chooses  to  help  me  a  little,  all  right.  But  I 
make  no  bargain." 

"You  shut  up,  I'm  managin'  this  here!"  growled 
Henry  angrily.  "If  you'd  leave  me  go  I'd  make 
money  fur  you  out  of  your  darned  healin'!  But  no, 
you'd  sooner  see  us  all  starve!" 

"  It's  awful  honourable  to  be  poor,  Henny — though 
I  admit  it's  certainly  onconwenient.  But  I  can't 
consent  to  sell  God's  power." 

Henry  turned  upon  the  Medenwalds.  "If  yous 
ain't  willin'  to  pay  us  what  you'd  pay  a  real  doctor, 
then  yous  keep  off  of  here! — or  I'll  smash  your  tin 
Lizzie  fur  you!" 

Of  course  that  was  the  last  the  Maus  household 
saw  of  the  fat  girl. 

Another  case  that  greatly  excited  Henry's  ire  was 
that  of  the  man  who  came  to  the  doctor  to  be  cured 
of  "Barber's  Itch."  "When  after  four  days  of 
agonized  prayer  the  "Itch"  grew  steadily  worse,  the 
man  became  discouraged;  but  not  so  Doctor  Maus. 

"This  is  Satan's  work,  your  gettin'  worse.  It 
seems  to  make  him  wery  angry  that  you  trust  in 
God  to  heal  you.  But  you  persewere  and  Jesus  will 
give  you  the  wictory." 

After  a  few  days  more  when,  naturally  and  in- 
evitably, the  trouble  began  to  disappear,  the  patient's 
profuse  thanks  and  voluble  praise  of  the  doctor's 
occult  powers  added  fuel  to  the  flame  of  Henry's 
anger. 

"Why  don't  you  prove  it  that  you're  thankful  and 
[56] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

that  you  think  pop's  prayin'  done  it — took  your 
damned  Itch  off?  Prove  it!  You  keep  sayin'  and 
talkin'  and  it  ain't  nothing  to  it." 

"The  proof  is  here  in  my  body,  praised  be  Gawd!" 
exclaimed  the  grateful  patient  fervently. 

But  under  threat  of  "a  licking"  Henry  held  him 
up  for  a  dollar,  which  the  patient  paid  very  grudg- 
ingly and  indignantly.  Needless  to  say  the  dollar 
was  pocketed  by  Henry,  not  by  his  father. 

The  bald-headed  man,  eighty  years  of  age,  whose 
hair  was  made  to  grow  through  the  power  of  prayer — 
really  did  grow  a  little,  for  some  reason — was  another 
victim  of  Henry's  greed.  The  aged  bald  one  had  to 
pay  as  much  as  a  bottle  of  Hair  Restorer  would  have 
cost. 

Then  there  was  the  stylish  woman  from  the  city 
who,  having  heard  of  the  doctor's  cures,  came  all  the 
way  out  to  Hessville  for  treatment. 

"But  leave  me  warn  you  right  now  before  we 
begin,"  she  said  as  soon  as  she  found  herself  alone 
with  the  doctor,  shaking  her  finger  at  him  playfully, 
" don't  you  try  to  get  fresh  with  me,  old  man! 
There's  them  that  wants  to  say  you  get  awful  fresh 
with  your  lady  patients.  But  leave  me  tell  you  I'm 
a  married  woman  and  won't  stand  fur  no  foolin'. 
Do  you  understand?" 

"I  understand  you  to  mean,"  said  the  doctor  with 
dignity,  "that  one  husband  is  enough  fur  you.  And 
wery  right  and  proper  that  is.  You're  a  perfect 
lady!" 

[571 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Och,  Pop,  you're  dumb!"  interrupted  Henry, 
bolting  forward  from  behind  the  door  where  he  had 
been  listening.  "Don't  you  see  she's  askin*  you  to 
flirt  with  her?  That's  what  she  come  out  here  fur! 
Say,  you  high-flyer,"  he  addressed  the  woman,  "the 
old  man  ain't  the  old  devil  you  take  him  fur!  But 
if  I'll  do— heh?" 

"Sayf  Ain't  you  the  fresh  guy  though! — you 
young  whipper-snapper!"  exclaimed  the  "perfect 
lady,"  her  tone  indignant,  but  her  eyes  dancing  with 
enjoyment. 

"Meet  me  up  at  the  Square  when  you're  done 
prayin'/" suggested  Henry.  "Will  you? " 

"I  ain't  promisin'  nothing,"  retorted  the  lady 
virtuously. 

"I'll  be  there  waitin'  fur  you;  hurry  through  with 
your  prayin',"  said  Henry  as  he  left  her  alone  with 
his  father. 

"My  son's  a  little  too  playful,  I'm  afraid,"  said  the 
doctor  apologetically. 

"Och,  him!"  the  lady  said  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 
"Come  on — let's  get  busy." 

She  proceeded,  with  the  doctor's  help,  to  put  in  a 
half  hour  "at  the  throne  of  grace,"  praying  for  the 
speedy  and  painless  removal  of  a  goiter,  a  wart  and  a 
corn. 

The  news  of  the  activities  and  interferences  of  the 
doctor's  son  spread  far  and  wide  and  had  the  effect 
of  greatly  reducing  his  patronage. 

Some  few  of  his  grateful  patients,  however,  to- 
[58J 


gether  with  some  of  the  school  directors  who  felt  sorry 
to  have  been  obliged  to  discharge  Minnie,  bestirred 
themselves  to  help  the  family  by  securing  work  for 
Henry — a  form  of  "help"  not  greatly  appreciated  by 
that  young  man.  He  was  offered  the  government 
job  of  rural  postman  at  $900  a  year. 

Henry  did  not  want  it.  Minnie  was  sure  he  would 
not  accept  it.  He  did  grumble  and  demur  a  good 
deal;  but  even  he  could  not  face  the  scorn  which  he 
knew  the  village  would  vent  upon  him  if  he  "turned 
down"  the  very  good  position  which  had  with  much 
effort  been  procured  for  him.  Also,  the  meals  at 
home  were  becoming  very  meagre  and  his  clothes 
were  getting  too  shabby  to  "keep  company"  with 
Irene  Laub.  This  job  would  actually  give  him  a 
fighting  chance  to  win  Irene  permanently  from 
John  Wimmer.  Then,  too,  the  work  would  not  be 
very  hard.  It  involved  driving  the  motor  .mail- 
truck  between  Lancaster  and  Hessville  and  Henry 
thought  that  he  would  like  that  in  good  weather.  Of 
course  it  would  be  "fierce"  to  get  up  early  every 
morning;  and  the  labour  of  keeping  the  truck  in 
order  was  truly  formidable. 

Deciding,  however,  to  worry  through  with  as  little 
real  work  as  possible,  he  .accepted  the  place;  and  in 
that  self-same  hour  he  borrowed  money  on  his 
prospects  to  the  .amount  of  his  first  month's  salary 
and  went  to  town  to  fit  himself  out  gorgeously  in  new 
apparel. 

Hessville  felt  relieved  for  Minnie  and  her  helpless 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

father;  but  these  two  most  concerned  did  not  re- 
joice. The  doctor  remained  indifferent  as  to  the 
source  of  his  food  and  clothing;  and  to  Minnie,  the 
prospect  of  their  being  dependent  upon  Henry  seemed 
rather  appalling. 


60] 


CHAPTER  V 

JOHN  WIMMER  kept  up  his  little  farce  with 
Minnie  longer  than  he  had  intended  to  do, 
partly  because,  at  the  idea  of  ceasing  his  visits  to 
her  he  had  such  a  queer  sense  of  loss;  but  more 
particularly  because  Irene  made  no  sign  to  him  of 
regret  for  her  behaviour  on  circus  day. 

He  soon  decided,  however,  that  he  must  bring  the 
thing  to  an  end. 

"Even  if  she  is  too  spunky  to  apologize,  she  anyhow 
knows  by  this  time  that  I  ain't  to  be  trifled  with." 

At  the  happy  prospect  of  their  reconciliation  his 
heart  throbbed,  his  nerves  tingled  with  an  excite- 
ment and  an  ecstasy  such  as  his  quiet  friendship  with 
Minnie  had  never  afforded  him. 

He  determined  to  break  the  ice  between  himself 
and  his  beloved  immediately  after  the  County  Fair. 
He  had  invited  Minnie  to  accompany  him  to  the 
County  Fair  to  divert  her  a  little  from  her  grief  over 
the  loss  of  her  school.  He  was  strangely  and  quite 
reprehensibly  heedless  of  the  fact  that  in  the  etiquette 
of  Hessville  taking  a  girl  to  the  County  Fair  was 
tantamount  to  a  proposal  of  marriage.  It  cost 
money  to  go  to  the  Fair,  with  its  lemonade  stands, 
ice  cream  cones,  side  shows  and  what-not;  and  it  was 

161] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

understood  that  a  man  did  not  invest  money  in 
giving  a  girl  treats  unless  he  expected  to  get  some- 
thing for  it.  So  absorbed  was  John  in  his  own 
devastating  passion  that  it  never  occurred  to  him  to 
be  apprehensive  of  the  effect,  not  only  upon  Minnie, 
but  upon  Irene  as  well,  of  his  taking  his  little  Men- 
nonite  friend  to  the  Fair. 

The  moment  Henry  learned  that  his  sister  was  going 
to  the  County  Fair  with  John,  he  determined  to  invite 
Irene  to  go  with  him.  In  spite  of  his  recent  intimacy 
with  the  girl,  he  would  never  have  dared  such  a 
presumption  as  to  ask  her  to  avow  thus  publicly 
her  friendliness  for  him  had  it  not  been  for  his  recent 
acquisition  of  a  lucrative  job.  But  this  dazzling  job, 
together  with  the  resentment  Irene  must  certainly 
feel  at  John's  going  so  far  as  to  invite  Minnie  to  ac- 
company him  to  the  Fair,  must  surely,  Henry  felt, 
insure  his  success. 

Irene,  meantime,  had  been  reckoning  confidently 
upon  John's  "coming  round"  on  the  eve  of  the  Fair. 
She  could  not  imagine  his  being  willing  to  attend  that 
great  social  function  with  any  one  but  herself. 
That  his  attentions  to  Minnie  were  serious  she  had 
never  for  a  moment  believed.  She  had  been,  how- 
ever, more  and  more  surprised  at  his  ability  to  "keep 
it  up" — this  "stunt"  of  his  to  excite  her  jealousy. 

"Gee,  but  won't  he  have  to  pay  for  the  way  he's 
been  treatin'  me!"  she  chafed  furiously  from  time  to 
time.  "  Mebby  he  won't  have  to  work  to  get  me  back 


again! 


[621 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

She  determined  to  "fool  him  good"  about  the 
County  Fair — she  would  tell  him,  when  he  invited 
her,  that  she  had  "promised  another  fellah." 

**I  sure  will  keep  him  guessin'  a  while!"  she 
chuckled  in  pleasant  anticipation. 

But  of  course  she  would  in  the  end,  after  having 
had  her  fun  out  of  "tormenting"  him,  give  in  and  go 
with  him. 

John,  on  his  side,  was  entirely  unsuspicious  of  the 
three-fold  effect  of  his  innocent  invitation  to  Minnie 
— the  fuel  it  added  to  the  flame  of  Henry  Maus's 
ambitions;  the  resentful  despair  it  brought  to  Irene; 
the  mingled  bliss  and  terror  with  which  it  flooded  the 
heart  of  Minnie,  who  now  for  the  first  time  felt  sure 
that  John  meant  it  "for  really." 

Of  all  the  cruel  difficulties  of  Minnie's  young  life 
that  which  now  confronted  her  was  certainly  the 
worst.  It  had  come  to  this — would  she  abandon  her 
Mennonite  religion  or  would  she  give  up  the  man 
whom  she  worshipped  far  more  (she  guiltily  realized) 
than  she  worshipped  her  austere  and  rather  unlov- 
able Mennonite  God,  to  whom,  for  the  past  three 
years,  she  had  given  her  undivided  allegiance.  For 
she  could  not  marry  "out  of  Meeting"  and  be 
retained  in  its  membership.  Of  course  John  would 
not  turn  Mennonite — not  for  any  girl  in  all  the 
world.  Of  that  she  was  sure.  The  obvious  deduc- 
tion then  was  that  he  was  confidently  expecting  her  to 
give  up  her  faith  for  her  love. 

"But  I  think  it's  queer  that  he  does — for  he  would 
[63] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

never  go  back  on  his  conscience  for  the  sake  of  his 
happiness,"  she  reflected,  "and  it's  a  wonder  he'd 
respect  me  for  doing  it,  strict  as  he  is  about  right  and 
wrong.  Strict  with  himself  anyhow." 

She  wondered  why  he  had  taken  the  decisive  step 
of  asking  her  to  go  to  the  Fair  before  he  had  made 
sure  that  she  would  abandon  the  Mennonites  to 
marry  him. 

"I  wouldn't  give  up  my  religion  for  anything  else 
in  all  the  world — not  for  to  keep  my  school,  not  for 
mere  money.  But  I'd  give  my  soul — yes,  my  im- 
mortal soul! — for  one  kiss  from  John  Winimer!"  she 
hotly  told  herself. 

After  all,  Satan,  "the  Enemy  of  the  soul,"  had  a 
rather  easy  victory  in  his  struggle  with  her.  It 
seemed  to  Minnie  that  an  eternity  in  hell  was  a 
cheap  price  to  pay  for  a  lifetime  with  John.  The 
victory  for  the  Enemy  was  made  easier  from  the 
doubts  in  her  heart  of  their  being  really  any  wicked- 
ness in  her  yielding  to  the  great  love  which  possessed 
her.  Deep  down  in  her  soul  was  a  blind  sense  that 
this  love  was  a  holy  thing;  greater  and  more  religious 
than  that  cramping,  stultifying  creed  she  called 
"religion." 

Her  spiritual  struggle  with  her  powerful  Protag- 
onist finally  focussed  itself  upon  the  temptation  to 
" dress  fancy"  for  the  Fair.  John  would  surely  have 
"a  shamed  face"  to  go  into  the  city  and  about  the 
Fair  grounds  with  her  in  her  plain  black  frock  and 
hood,  he  himself  being  such  a  "stylish  dresser." 

[641 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

She  had  no  money  to  buy  new  clothes.  There  was 
not  the  least  use  in  appealing  to  Henry  to  give  her  any 
money,  since  he  had  already  spent  in  advance  a  full 
month's  pay. 

She  suddenly  remembered,  with  a  thrill  of  joy  that 
astonished  and  shocked  herself,  a  certain  old  leather 
trunk  in  the  loft  under  the  roof.  It  contained  a 
robin's  egg  blue  dimity  frock  which  she  had  made  for 
herself  three  years  ago,  just  before  her  conversion  had 
made  her  "turn  plain."  She  had  never  worn  that 
frock.  It  would  of  course  be  all  out  of  style  now,  and 
as  her  figure  had  become  taller  and  fuller  it  would  not 
fit.  But  if  she  worked  hard  at  it  she  could  make  it 
over  in  time  for  the  Fair.  What  she  should  do  for  a 
hat  she  did  not  know.  Maybe  she  could  make  a 
"toque"  out  of  the  patches  of  blue  dimity  that  were 
left. 

"If  it  will  please  John  to  see  me  dressed  all  in  blue 
for  the  Fair,  I  might  as  well  leave  Meeting  now  as 
later,"  she  reasoned. 

So,  on  the  momentous  day  of  the  Fair,  when  John 
called  in  his  buggy  to  take  her  to  town,  his  amaze- 
ment, not  to  say  consternation,  upon  finding  the 
demure,  drab  little  Puritan  of  his  acquaintance  so 
transformed  that  he  scarcely  recognized  her;  clad  in 
radiant  blue,  her  sombre  hood  replaced  by  a  jaunty 
"toque"  perched  upon  wavy  locks — gave  him  a 
shock  that  nearly  knocked  him  down. 

In  the  moment  of  realizing  that  it  was  actually 
Minnie  who  stood  before  him  in  the  shabby  front 

[65] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

room  of  the  dilapidated  Maus  home,  his  heart  sank 
to  his  feet.  The  Minnie  dear  to  him  was  the  quaint, 
serious  Mennonite,  not  this  gay,  smiling,  pretty  girl 
who  might  be  anybody  at  all,  a  swell  department 
store  clerk,  a  restaurant  waitress,  or  even  a  city 
school  teacher — it  was  not  his  unique  little  friend  and 
confidante. 

His  second  thought,  however,  was  that  now  she 
could  return  to  his  school;  and  at  that  he  smiled  back 
into  the  dark  eyes  which,  lifted  to  his,  pleaded  so 
eloquently  that  he  should  be  pleased  with  her. 

"Well,  well,  Minnie,  now  you  can  come  to  school," 
lie  exclaimed  as  he  took  her  hand.  "I'm  glad!  I 
can't  tell  you  how  glad  I  am  for  that ! " 

"Why,  no,  John,  I  can't.  The  school  board  can't 
put  the  new  teacher  out  now  any  more,"  Minnie 
reminded  him. 

She  took  no  alarm  from  the  significant  suggestion 
that  she  might  once  more  work  for  her  living.  He 
could  mean  that  she  might  now  earn  her  wedding 
clothes  and  her  aus  dire  (the  household  furnishings 
which  every  Pennsylvania  Dutch  bride  contributed 
to  her  new  home) . 

"That's  so,  too,"  he  said,  looking  disappointed. 
"I  didn't  think  so  far  for  a  minute.  But  if  your 
fancy  clothes  don't  give  me  back  my  little  assistant, 
I'm  sorry  you  don't  dress  plain.  I  prefer  you  the 
way  I've  always  known  you — the  way  I've  learned 
to  like  you  so  well." 

Minnie's  eyes  shone  with  soft  fire.  But  she  did 
[661 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

not  answer.  Breathlessly  she  hung  upon  his  words, 
afraid  to  stir  lest  she  check  the  precious  sound  of  his 
voice  that  told  her  how  he  had  "learned  to  like"  her 
"so  well."  The  most  ardent  love  language  could  not 
have  said  more  to  her. 

"What  made  you  do  this,  then,  Minnie?"  he 
asked,  puzzled.  " Has  your  faith  got  weak?  " 

"Oh,  John,  I  didn't  want  you  to  have  ashamed  to 
take  me  to  town  in  my  Mennonite  clothes." 

"But  I  wouldn't  have!  When  did  you  ever  know 
me  to  care  what  other  ones  think  or  say,  Minnie,  so 
long  as  I  know  I'm  right?" 

"Yes,  I  know  how  independent  you  are,  John!" 
she  responded,  gazing  at  him  with  proud  admiration. 
"But  maybe  I'm  not  so  independent  for  you.  I 
didn't  want  you  to  have  cause  to  feel  ashamed  of  me." 

"But  you  surely  wouldn't  near  do  a  thing  like  that, 
Minnie! — give  up  your  religion  to  save  me  a  shamed 
face  for  your  clothes!" 

"Yes — I  would!"  she  half  whispered,  her  delicate 
face  flushing.  "There's  nothing  I  wouldn't  do  for 
you!  I  would  go — to — hell — for  you!"  she  solemnly 
affirmed. 

The  look  in  her  eyes,  the  heaving  of  her  bosom,  the 
thrill  in  her  tones,  suddenly  drove  every  drop  of 
colour  from  John's  face.  In  a  flash  he  saw  what  had 
happened;  what  he,  unwittingly  and  most  unthink- 
ingly, had  brought  about.  Strong  man  that  he  was, 
his  knees  shook  under  him.  For  the  strongest  thing 
about  him  was  the  great  kindness  of  his  heart.  He 

[67] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

stood  confronted  with  the  fact  that  he  had  deliber- 
ately gone  to  work  and  made  a  sweet,  good  girl  fall 
in  love  with  him,  when  with  every  drop  of  his  blood, 
every  throb  of  his  brain  and  heart,  he  loved  an- 
other woman.  It  was  all  his  fault,  Minnie  had 
never  crooked  a  finger  to  win  him.  She  had  never 
even  uttered  one  word  of  criticism  against  Irene,  a 
thing  almost  no  other  girl  in  her  place  would  have 
refrained  from  doing.  She  loved  him!  Never  had 
he  thought  of  such  a  possibility !  How  could  he  have 
been  so  heedless,  so  thoughtless,  so  self-absorbed,  so 
brutally  selfish!  Why,  oh  why,  had  he  not  foreseen 
the  chance  of  a  thing  like  this  happening? 

The  look  of  adoration,  of  perfect  faith,  in  Minnie's 
eyes  upraised  to  his,  smote  him  like  a  lash.  That  she 
would  give  up  her  religion  for  him! — when  never  for 
an  instant  had  she  wavered  in  her  loyalty  to  her 
creed  to  keep  the  work  she  loved  in  his  school  and  to 
save  her  own  livelihood ! 

"Yes,  John,"  he  heard,  through  the  tumult  in  his 
brain,  her  soft  voice  speaking,  "that  is  just  the  way 
I  feel!" 

The  next  thing  he  knew  (he  never  understood  just 
how  it  had  come  about)  the  pathetic  little  homemade 
blue  toque  was  resting  against  his  coat  and  she  was 
clinging  to  him,  wildly,  passionately!  "Oh,  John,  it 
can't  be  displeasing  to  God — such  a  wonderful  thing 
as  our  love!  Not  if  God  is  good!  For  our  love  is 
good  and  great — so  much  greater  than  anything  I 
ever  found  in  my  religion!  I  have  done  what  you 

[68] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

once  told  me  everyone  ought  to  do — I  have  let  my 
heart  speak  to  me  and  teach  me  and  I  have  'followed 
it  fearlessly/  no  matter  where  it  would  lead  me  to. 
It  leads  me  here — into  your  arms,  John!" 

It  was  in  such  a  moment  as  this  that  he,  in  his 
agony,  thought  how  blessed  would  be  such  words 
as  these  spoken  by  the  girl  he  loved! — though 
Irene,  he  knew,  was  incapable  of  thinking,  feeling,  or 
speaking  such  words.  Yet  she  was  the  girl  he  loved 
and  this  girl  he  did  not  love. 

He  began  to  appear  to  himself  an  outrageous 
villain — for  lo!  he  was  still  betrothed  to  Irene! — they 
had  not  broken  their  engagement.  Decent  people 
among  the  Pennsylvania  Dutch  did  not  break  their 
plighted  troth. 

What  in  the  name  of  all  that  was  honourable,  of  all 
that  was  pitiful,  was  he  to  do?  Tell  Minnie  that  she 
had  misunderstood  his  attentions  and  that  he  did 
not  love  her? — and  see  the  light  of  her  eyes  die  out, 
her  radiance  blighted,  her  heart  (offered  to  him  in 
such  richness  and  profusion!)  flung  broken  at  his 
feet! 

How  could  he  do  it?  He  felt  her  soft  body 
clinging  to  him,  while  his  arm  rested  limply  about  her 
waist.  He  tried  to  speak,  to  respond  to  her  burning 
words.  But  his  voice  would  not  come  to  him. 

If  only  he  could  gain  time;  could  get  away  alone  to 
think  it  all  out;  could  rush  to  Irene  and  have  it  out 
with  her  and  ask  her  to  help  him!  (He  could  hear 
her  mockery  at  his  awful  predicament!) 

[69] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Minnie,  dear — this  came  to  me  so  suddenly, 
j » 

His  voice  broke  and  faltered.  He  did  not  know 
what  to  say  to  her. 

"Yes,"  she  brightly  nodded,  "I  knew  how  sur- 
prised you'd  be  to  find  me  not  dressed  plain  any 
more.  But  I  couldn't  wait!  It's  me  that  has 
spoken  first,  John,  ain't?  I  said  Yes  before  you  even 
asked  me  to,  didn't  I?"  She  laughed  joyously,  her 
face  really  beautiful,  John  thought,  in  the  light  of  her 
great  happiness.  "Until  you  inwited  me  to  go  to  the 
Fair,  I  wasn't  sure  you  meant  it  for  really — Henny 
always  said  you  didn't — and  I  wouldn't  leave  myself 
think  you  did — for  all,  I  couldn't  help  knowing  wery 
often  that  you  must  mean  it — I  couldn't  help  seeing 
how  congenial  we  are  together — so  much  more  than 
you  and  Irene  could  ever  have  been — and  I  knew  you 
must  feel  it,  too — how  nice  we  agree  together  and  how 
much  that  goes  to  make  happiness  and  peace  in 
married  life.  Oh,  John,  won't  we  have  happiness 
together?  Think  of  it! — all  our  lives  together! 
John!  If  I  knew  I  was  going  to  die  the  wery  week 
after  we  were  married  and  that  I'd  be  damned  in  hell 
for  all  the  rest  of  eternity  for  giving  up  Meeting — I'd 
take  that  one  week  with  you!" 

Her  face  wore  a  religious  solemnity  that  made  him 
feel  his  situation  to  be  perfectly  hopeless.  A  cold 
terror  gripped  him  lest  he  yield  to  his  compassion  and, 
committing  himself  to  her  irrevocably,  forever  blot 
out  of  his  life  the  sun  in  the  heavens.  For  that's 

[70] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

what  losing  Irene  would  mean  to  him — eternal 
darkness. 

Suddenly  he  staggered,  put  his  hand  to  his  head, 
recovered  himself  and  gently  put  Minnie  from  his 
arms.  He  was  as  white  as  death. 

"I'm  sick,  Minnie — this -came  to  me*so  unexpected 
— I  got  to  go  home — we  can't  go  to  the  Fair — I'll  see 
you  later — I  got  such  a  headache — I'll  have  to  get 
home — I'll  come  again  as  soon  as  I  otherwise  can  and 
explain  to  you — I  hope  you  don't  mind  not  going  to 
the  Fair?  Are  you  wery  disappointed?  I'm  sorry! 
But — I'll  make  it  up  to  .you " 

He  never  remembered  just  how  he  got  away — 
followed  out  to  his  buggy  by  her  solicitous  tenderness. 
He  had  the  comfort  of  realizing,  as  he  drove  blindly 
out  to  his  father's  farm,  that  there  had  been  no  sign 
in  her  sweet  young  face  of  any  least  suspicion  of  the 
truth.  She  did  not  know — poor,  poor  girl! — how 
tragically  mistaken  she  was  in  him!  She  was 
worried,  of  course,  and  sympathetic  for  his  headache 
— but  this  slight  shadow  could  not  obscure  the 
dazzling  brightness  of  her  soul  which  shone  out  upon 
him  as  he  left  her,  went  with  him  on  his  frenzied  way 
and  stayed  with  him  through  all  the  hours  of  the  day 
and  night  that  followed. 

A  telephone  inquiry  to  the  General  Store  as  to 
whether  he  could  talk  with  Irene  brought  him  the 
information  that  she  had  gone  to  the  Fair  with 
Henry  Maus. 

And  now  for  the  first  time  John  realized  the 
[71] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

possibility  of  something  having  happened  in  that 
quarter,  as  disastrous  as  that  which  had  occurred 
between  him  and  Minnie.  What  a  blind  fool  he  had 
been  to  have  risked  his  own  happiness  and  that  of  two 
innocent  maidens  for  a  purpose  which  now  seemed  to 
him  elusive,  quixotic,  senseless!  He  saw  that  Henry 
Maus  as  mail  carrier  with  a  salary  of  $900  a  year 
was  a  rival  not  to  be  flouted.  He  did  not,  however, 
feel  so  helpless,  so  altogether  at  a  loss,  before  this 
side  of  his  difficulty  (he  could  deal  with  Henry  Mans) 
as  before  the  tragedy  of  Minnie's  great  love  for  him — 
a  love  awakened  and  encouraged  only  by  his  own 
actions  and  therefore  involving  him  in  a  responsi- 
bility of  which  he  must,  perforce,  take  full  account. 
From  this  Tiorn  of  his  dilemma  he  could  see  no  way  of 
escape  whatever. 


[72] 


JOHN'S  steadfastness  in  having  remained  away 
from  Irene  ever  since  her  bad  treatment  of  him 
on  circus  day  had  given  her  so  convincing  a 
demonstration  of  the  fact  that  she  could  not  do  as 
she  liked  with  him,  had  so  transformed  her  mental 
image  of  him,  had  so  inspired  in  her  a  respect  for  him 
such  as  had  never  been  called  forth  by  those  finer 
qualities  of  his  which  others  seemed  so  highly  to 
esteem,  that  as  Fair  day  drew  near,  on  which  oc- 
casion she  was  confident  he  would  return  to  her,  a 
most  unwonted  sense  of  awe  and  constraint  at  the 
prospect  of  a  renewal  of  her  association  with  him 
was  her  dominant  feeling — and  this  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  she  had  vowed  to  herself  and  to  others  that 
when  he  did  "come  crawling  back'*  to  her,  she  would 
"make  it  hot  for  him"! 

Therefore,  when  Henry  Maus  breathlessly  came  to 
her  with  the  significant  news  that  John  was  going  to 
take  Minnie  to  the  Fair,  it  was  her  pride,  not  her 
heart,  that  suffered.  And  even  her  very  angry 
resentment  was  somewhat  modified  by  the  sense  of 
relief  in  the  back  of  her  consciousness. 

Yet  she  burned  for  vengeance,  and  when  Henry 
boldly  asserted  that  now  he  intended  to  be  her  escort 

[73] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

to  the  Fair,  she  brushed  aside  her  doubts  as  to  the 
propriety  of  going  with  such  as  he  and  consented  at 
once.  She  really  much  preferred  Henry's  company 
to  John's  anyway.  She  was  also  not  unmindful  of 
the  fact  that  since  he  had  become  the  mail  carrier  of 
the  district,  some  of  her  girl  friends  were  showing  a 
marked  interest  in  him. 

But  her  enjoyment  of  the  excursion  to  the  Fair  was 
much  marred  by  her  inability  to  put  aside  the 
persistent  speculation  which  haunted  her  as  to  what 
was  the  secret  of  Minnie's  hold  upon  John.  Such  a 
quiet,  timid  little  thing — wherein  lay  her  power? — a 
power  strong  enough  to  keep  John  Wimmer  from  her 
side! 

During  every  minute  in  the  Fair  grounds  her  eyes 
roamed  far  and  wide  for  a  glimpse  of  the  hated  pair — 
oh,  how  she  hated  them  both!  She  wanted  to  see  for 
herself  what  it  was  that  Minnie  Maus  possessed 
which  she  did  not  have. 

"To  think  of  John  Wimmer  coming  to  the  Fair 
with  a  Mennonite!"  she  said  to  Henry  derisively,  as 
they  strolled  about  among  prize  cows,  chickens,  pigs, 
and  other  farm  products.  "A  body'd  think  he'd  be 
too  proud!" 

Henry  was  having  a  hard  time  repressing  his 
irritation  at  her  inattention  toward  himself,  and  her 
too  evident  interest  in  catching  a  sight  of  John 
Wimmer.  To  be  spending  his  own  good  money  on  a 
girl  who  showed  more  interest  in  another  "fellah" 
was  rather  hard  to  bear. 

[74] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Wait  till  I'm  married  to  her  oncet!"  he  fiercely 
told  himself.  "She'll  pay  attention  to  me  then,  you 
bet!— or  I'll  learn  her!" 

Fortunately  for  Irene's  prospective  fate,  she  was 
much  more  capable  of  protecting  herself  against  the 
brute  tyranny  of  such  as  Henry  than  ever  she  would 
be  to  cope  with  the  moral  ascendency  of  a  man  like 
John — as  the  future  was  clearly  to  prove. 

"John  Wimmer  ain't  comin'  to  the  Fair  with  no 
Mennonite"  Henry  replied  to  her  disparaging 
reference  to  his  sister. 

"Hen  Maus!"  Irene  stopped  short  in  the  tan -bark 
path  they  were  traversing  and  clutched  Henry's 
thick  arm.  "Did  you  up  and  trick  me  into  comin' 
here  with  you  by  lyin'  to  me?" 

"No,  I  didn't.  And  I  ain't  lyin'  to  you  now.  I 
sayed  John  Wimmer  ain't  comin'  here  with  no 
Mennonite.  That's  what  I  sayed.  And  he  ain't, 
neither." 

"You  sayed  he  was  comin'  with  your  sister  Minnie. 
She's  a  Mennonite,  ain't  she?" 

"She  was  yistiddy.     To-day  she  ain't." 

"What!"  gasped  Irene,  turning  white.  "You 
don't  mean  to  tell  me  she's  fell  back?" 

"That's  what.  She's  fell  back  in  a  lot  of  ways — 
she  reads  books  that  the  Meetin'  don't  leave  the 
members  read — sich  novels,  mind  you — John  Wim- 
mer leaves  her  borrow  the  loan  of  'em  off  of  him;  and 
she  goes  buggy-ridin'  Sundays — you  seen  that  your- 
self; the  Brethren  has  warned  her  they'd  have  her  up 

[75] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

fur  discipline  if  she  fell  back  agin — and  now  here  to- 
day didn't  she  tog  herself  all  up  in  worldly  clo'es — a 
blue  frock  with  sich  a  blue  top-knot  that  she  calls  a 
toque — I  tol'  her  it  looked  more  like  a  joke.  Say, 
but  she  looked  a  swell  sight !  Gee,  but — 

"  Look-a-here,  Hen  Maus!"  exclaimed  Irene 
wildly,  "does  your  Minnie  think  she's  a-goin'  to 
marry  John  Wimmer?  Don't  she  know  he's  promised 
to  me  a'ready?  What  does  she  think  she's  up  to 
anyhow?  I'll  learn  her  something  if  she  don't 
watch  out!" 

"John  Wimmer  won't  leave  no  one  hurt  a  hair  of 
her  head!  Not  even  me,  her  own  brother  yet!  He 
guards  her  somepin  fierce!" 

"And  she's  gave  up  the  faith  and  is  dressin* 
fancy!"  cried  Irene,  distraught.  "That  certainly 
looks  as  if  she  thinks  she's  got  him!  He  must  have 
tol'  her  he'd  be  willin*  to  marry  her  if  she'd  give  up 
Meeting !  Well,  I  never ! " 

"Yes,  ain't!"  agreed  Henry. 

"To  think  he'd  play  me  that  false!  I  could 'sue 
him  for  breach  of  promise ! " 

"Aw,  leave  him  go!  He  ain't  the  only  rose  on  the 
bush!" 

"Do  you  know  if  Minnie's  promised  to  him  or  if 
she  ain't?"  Irene  demanded. 

"Well,  it  certainly  looks  like  it,  don't  it? — his 
fetchin*  her  here  to  the  Fair  and  her  dressin'  fancy?" 

"I  don't  see  'em  here  nowheres,"  said  Irene  suspi- 
ciously. "Hen  Maus,  if  I  find  you've  fooled  me!" 

[76] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"You'll  see  'em  all  right  if  you  keep  on  rubber- 
neckin*  the  way  you've  been  doin'  all  afternoon!" 
growled  Henry.  "A  nice  time  I'm  havin'  with 
you!" 

"Och,  you!"  she  poked  him  playfully.  "Think 
you  ain't  gettin'  your  money's  worth,  don't  you! 
Never  mind,  Henny!  I'll  make  it  up  to  you  some 
time.  But  my  goodness!  I  can't  think  of  a  thing 
this  after  *  but  them  two ! " 

As  the  afternoon  waned,  however,  and  John  and 
Minnie  did  not  turn  up,  Irene  grew  more  and  more 
suspicious  of  Henry's  having  deceived  and  tricked 
her  into  coming  to  the  Fair. 

Henry  himself  was  not  at  all  interested  in  the  non- 
appearance  of  his  rival  and  his  sister  and  was  horribly 
bored  by  Irene's  being  so  engrossed  in  it  and  so 
tragic  about  it. 

"Mebby  they  up  and  ee-loped,  or  what  you  call  it," 
he  cruelly  suggested. 

"Hen  Maus!  You  don't  think  John  would  do  a 
trick  like  that  on  me ! " 

"I  don't  know  and  I  don't  care  what  John 
Wimmer'd  do!  Can't  we  talk  about  something  else 
than  John  Wimmer  ?  I  have  sick  of  him ! " 

"Not  more'n  I  am!"  retorted  Irene  spitefully. 
"  I'm  a  goin'  to  write  off  a  letter  to  him  just  as  soon  as 
I  get  home!" 

"What  do  you  want  to  go  and  do  that  fur?  He'll 
think  you're  runnin'  after  him!"  protested  Henry 

'Afternoon. 

[77] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

who  lived  in  daily  dread  of  her  reconciliation  with 
John. 

"I'll  tell  him  what  I  think  of  him!" 

"So  long  as  you  don't  write  no  love  letter  to  him, 
but  just  sass  him,  all  right,"  Henry  approved. 

The  excursion  was  such  a  failure  for  them  both 
that  they  returned  home  early,  Irene  angrily  accusing 
Henry  all  the  way  back  of  having  misled  and  de- 
ceived her,  and  he  insisting  that  he  could  prove  it  by 
Minnie  that  John  really  had  invited  her. 

Upon  their  arrival  at  the  General  Store,  the 
exciting  news  which  her  parents  hastened  to  give 
her — both  of  them  leaning  eagerly  over  the  counter, 
side  by  side — that  John  had  telephoned  and  asked 
for  her.  confirmed  her  conviction  of  Henry's  du- 
plicity. 

"You  just  got  me  to  go  to  the  Fair  along  with  you 
to  make  John  believe  me  and  you  was  promised 
a'ready!" 

"I  didn't  neither!    He  did  ast  our  Minnie!" 

"He  didn't!  You're  a  big  story  teller!  If  he  ast 
her,  why  wasn't  she  there  with  him?  And  now 
John  knows  from  Pop  that  I  was  at  the  Fair  with 
you,  what  kin  he  think  but  that  we're  promised?  " 

"Well,  what  if  he  does  think  it?  Why  need  you 
care  what  a  fellah  thinks  that  likes  another  girl 
better'n  he  likes  you?  Have  a  little  spunk  about 
you!" 

"I  don't  believe  he  thinks  more  of  Minnie  Maus 
than  he  does  of  me!"  Irene  stubbornly  stuck  to  her 

[78] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

instinctive  conviction  in  spite  of  all  the  signs  to  the 
contrary. 

"Will  you  believe  it  if  Minnie  tells  you  he  ast  her 
to  go  with  him  along?"  asked  Henry.  "You  don't 
have  to  believe  me — ast  her!" 

"I'd  believe  her  sooner'n  I  would  you,  Hen 
Maus!" 

"All  right  then — come  on  along  up  to  our  place  and 
ast  her." 

They  found  Minnie  in  the  kitchen  preparing  a 
frugal  supper  of  sassafras  tea,  bread  and  molasses. 
She  still  wore  her  blue  dress,  though  she  had  carefully 
covered  it  with  two  gingham  aprons.  She  was 
singing  as  they  entered  the  kitchen  and  the  radiant 
happiness  of  the  countenance  she  turned  to  them 
struck  them  both  with  a  shock,  though  in  far  different 
ways;  for  to  Irene  it  was  a  portent  of  her  loss  of 
John;  and  to  Henry  it  meant  renewed  hope  of  winning 
the  prize  at  his  side. 

"Why  didn't  John  fetch  you  to  the  Fair  along, 
Minnie?"  Henry  inquired. 

"We  were  all  ready  to  start — he  came  for  me  with 
his  buggy — and  then  we  got  to  talking — and — and 
we  didn't  go  to  the  Fair."  . 

She  smiled  upon  them  happily  and  they  stared  at 
her  curiously. 

"Now  look-a-here,  Minnie,  did  John  Wimmer  ast 
you,  or  are  you  kiddin'?"  Irene  demanded,  still 
incredulous. 

"Kiddin'?"  Minnie  repeated  with  a  puzzled  little 
[79] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

contraction  of  her  brows  that,  despite  the  sombreness 
of  the  occasion,  involuntarily  brought  a  roar  of 
laughter  from  Irene  and  Henry. 

"Are  you  jollyin'  us?"  Henry  explained. 

"Making  fun  of  you,  do  you  mean?  I  wouldn't 
have  any  reason  to." 

"And  you  say  John  didn't  fetch  you  to  the  Fair 
because  yous  was  too  busy  talkin'  together?"  Irene 
jealously  probed  her. 

"Partly  that,"  Minnie  answered  hesitatingly. 
She  did  not  like  to  discuss  her  sacred  love  with 
Irene  and  Henry.  Not  that  she  feared  to  hurt 
Irene.  She  assumed  that  Irene  was  as  completely 
alienated  from  John  as  he  evidently  was  from  her. 

"What  did  yous  have  to  talk  about  so  much?" 
Irene  pressed  her  catechism. 

"About — about — my  dressin'  fancy  and  all." 

"What  made  you  give  up  dressin'  plain?"  Irene 
darkly  demanded. 

"Supper's  soon  made,"  was  Minnie's  irrelevant 
reply.  "Will  you  stay  and  eat  along,  Irene?  We 
ain't  got  much — but  you're  welcome." 

"I  got  to  go  home.  We're  havin*  chicken  and 
waffles,"  Irene  cruelly  added,  with  a  disparaging 
glance  at  the  table  set  with  bread  and  molasses. 

"Gosh!"  cried  Henry,  smacking  his  lips,  "I'd  like 
to  board  at  your  place ! " 

"Yes,  I  guess  anyhow  you  would!"  retorted  Irene, 
slapping  at  him  jocularly.  "Say,  Minnie,  you're 
awful  stuck  on  John;  ain't  you  are?" 

[80] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Minnie,  colouring,  turned  away  to  inspect  her  tea 
on  the  stove — and  again  Irene  and  Henry  laughed 
uproariously. 

"Mind  her  blushin'  yet!"  yelled  Irene.  "Well, 
say,  Minnie,  you're  welcome  to  him!  /  don't  want 
him!" 

"I  know  you  don't,"  answered  Minnie  as  she 
looked  around  again  and  gravely  met  Irene's  bold  and 
curious  gaze. 

"Did  he  tell  you  I  don't  want  him?" 

"No,  John  and  I  have  other  things  to  talk  about." 

"Oh,  you  have,  have  you?  Such  interestin* 
things  that  you  forget  to  come  to  the  Fair;  ain't?" 

Minnie  did  not  answer.  Irene  and  she,  though 
born  and  brought  up  in  the  same  village,  really  lived 
in  such  different  spiritual  worlds  that  they  seemed 
scarcely  to  speak  the  same  language. 

"Well,  Minnie,  you  certainly  are  workin*  fierce  to 
get  John — givin'  up  your  religion  yet !  My  goodness ! 
If  I  couldn't  get  a  fellah  without  goin*  that  far,  I'd 
stay  a  old  maid!" 

No  answer  from  Minnie. 

"  Next  thing  you'll  be  tryin*  to  make  me  believe  you 
and  John's  promised  yet ! " 

Minnie  did  not  answer  as  her  grave  eyes  looked 
into  Irene's. 

"And  I  wouldn't  believe  that  if  you  stood  on  your 
head  and  sweared  to  it!"  declared  Irene.  "So  you 
needn't  try  to  make  me!" 

"I  won't  try,"  Minnie  smiled. 
[811 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Oh,  you  think  you're  much,  don't  you!"  cried 
Irene  angrily,  her  inability  to  provoke  Minnie  acting 
as  an  intolerable  irritant  upon  herself.  "/  don't 
care  if  you're  promised  to  him  or  if  you  ain't!  It 
makes  me  nothing!" 

"I  know  it  don't,"  Minnie  acquiesced. 

"Well,  are  yous  promised?"  Irene  demanded, 
unable  longer  to  restrain  her  burning,  envious 
curiosity. 

"Yes,  Irene." 

Irene  uttered  a  little  shriek  of  amazement,  while 
Henry  started  violently,  his  face  and  neck  flushing 
brick  red. 

"Look-a-here,  Minnie  Maus,  do  you  know  what 
John  Wimmer  is?"  exclaimed  Irene  shrilly.  "He's 
a  bigamist,  that's  what  he  is!  Take  warning  in 
time  and  don't  you  trust  him!  He's  a  false  deceiver! 
— that's  what  he  is!  One  of  these  days  he'll  get 
tired  of  you — or  get  mad  at  you  for  somepin — and 
out  he'll  hike!  And  that's  the  last  you'll  see  of  him! 
Oh,  I  know  him!  None  better!  Say,  Minnie — as 
friend  to  friend — don't  you  trust  him!  " 

"I'll  trust  him  so  long  as  ever  I  breathe!"  said 
Minnie  softly. 

"Och,  well,  if  you  like  takin*  up  with  another 
girl's  leavin's,  you're  welcome  to  him!  He  took  up 
with  you  just  to  spite  me  because  I  turned  him  down. 
He  thinks  he's  payin'  me  back!  But  I  don't  care 
who  he  marries!  For  all  I  care  he  can  marry  his 
grandmother11" 

[82] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

She  shrieked  with  laughing  and  Henry  joined  her 
boisterously. 

"Ain't  you  got  no  pride  about  you,  Minnie  Maus, 
that  you'd  take  up  with  a  fellah  that's  just  usin'  you 
to  spite  another  girl?"  Irene  put  it  to  her  rival 
straight. 

"Irene,"  answered  Minnie  earnestly,  "y°u  don't 
understand  John.  It  ain't  in  you  to  understand  a 
man  like  John." 

Before  Irene  could  reply,  Minnie  turned  away  and 
left  the  room. 

"Say,  Hen!"  cried  Irene  wildly,  "that's  what 
John  phoned  to  our  place  about!  He  wanted  to  tell 
me  he  was  promised  to  your  Minnie !  And  gloat  over 
me!  Gee,  Hen,  I'm  glad  Pop  toP  him  I  was  at  the 
Fair  with  you  along!  That  must  have  spited  him, 
ain't?  Not  to  have  the  chanct  to  gloat  over  me!" 

"Yes,  I  guess!  Say,  Irene,  you  spite  him  back 
some  more — quick — leave  us  put  it  out  right 
aways  that  us,  we  are  promised  together,  too — me 
and  you!" 

"Och,  Hen — well,  but '  she  paused  to  con- 
sider and  weigh  his  suggestion,  her  eyes  gleaming,  her 
full  bosom  heaving  tumultuously,  while  Henry 
gazed  upon  her  with  hungry  eyes  and  palpitating 
heart. 

"I  got  my  good  job  now,  you  know,  Irene,"  he 
urged  eagerly.  "Nine  hundred  dollars  a  year  yet, 
mind  you!" 

"Yes,  well,  but  you  got  to  support  your  folks." 
[88] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Not  if  John  marries  Minnie." 

"But  there's  your  pop 

"He  kin  live  with  Minnie  and  John.  Minnie  has 
so  fond  fur  Pop,  she  won't  want  to  be  parted  from 
him.  Aw,  go  on,  Irene,  say  yes — and  come  on 
along  to  town  over  with  me  to-morrow  morning  on 
the  mail  bust  to  buy  a  ring.  Will  you?" 

"Hen,  I — I — say,  Hen,  yes,  I  will!"  she  burst  out. 

Henry  took  her  into  his  arms  and  kissed  her 
noisily. 

"Come  on  home  to  supper  with  me,  Hen,  and  tell 
the  folks.  They  ain't  mindin'  it  so  much  now — your 
runnin'  with  me — since  you're  got  the  mail  delivery." 

"All  right,  I'll  come  along,"  Henry  acquiesced, 
decently  repressing  his  greedy  delight  (at  such  a 
time!)  at  the  prospect  of  a  supper  of  chicken  and 
waffles  instead  of  one  of  sassafras  tea  and  "molasses 
bread."  Even  love  could  not  make  one  oblivious  of 
such  an  advantage. 

That  night  when  John  had  hurriedly  finished  his 
evening  chores  at  the  farm  and  was  about  to  go 
forth  to  find  Irene,  wherever  she  might  be,  and  try  to 
reach  with  her  a  way  out  of  his  dilemma,  a  note  was 
handed  to  him  by  Henry  Maus. 

His  first  thought  was  that  it  was  from  Minnie  and 
a  wild  hope  sprang  up  in  his  heart  that  she  was 
realizing  her  mistake  and  was  setting  him  free.  For 
hours  after  leaving  her  to-day  he  had  walked  the  floor 
of  his  room  at  home,  torturing  his  soul  with  the 
unanswerable  question  as  to  whether  it  were  not 

[84] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

kinder  to  poor  little  Minnie  herself  to  tell  her  that 
he  did  not  love  her. 

"No  answer  wanted!"  Henry  insultingly  flung  at 
him  as  he  thrust  the  note  into  his  hand  and  turned 
away. 

It  was  written  on  decorated  pink  stationery  and 
was  loudly  scented.  John  opened  it  with  shaking 
fingers  and  saw  at  the  end  Irene's  unfamiliar  sig- 
nature, for  she  had  never  written  a  line  to  him 
before. 

MR.  JOHN  WIMMEB, 
Friend: — 

Once  you  was  my  bosom  Friend,  but  now  you  don't. 
And  this  is  to  give  you  notice  that  I  have  said  Yes  to 
Henry  Maus  and  you  needn't  trouble  to  get  me  back,  for 
you  would  only  get  spurned,  so  don't  try  to  come  between 
I  and  my  Choise,  for  I  don't  want  to  be  bothered  with  you. 

Yours  Respectfully, 
IRENE  LAUB. 


[85] 


CHAPTER  VII 

JUST  as  it  had  seemed  to  Minnie  impossible  that 
a  man  like  John  could  love  a  girl  like  Irene,  so  it 
had  seemed  to  John  that  Irene,  whom  of  course 
he  idealized,  could  not  possibly  care  for  a  brute  like 
Hen  Maus.  Therefore,  while  he  had  suffered  some 
bitter  moments  from  Irene's  open  friendliness  with 
Henry,  he  had  not  been  seriously  concerned  about  it. 
His  discovery,  however,  of  Minnie's  love  for  himself 
had  made  him  ready  to  credit  any  other  unexpected 
development  of  his  own  thoughtlessness;  so  that 
Irene's  written  statement  that  Henry  was  her 
"Choise"  and  that  to  try  to  win  her  away  from 
him  would  be  wasted  effort,  fell  upon  John's  stunned 
heart  with  the  finality  of  death.  Incomprehensible 
as  it  was  that  a  splendid  creature  like  Irene  could  so 
lower  herself,  he  could  neither  doubt  it  nor  fight  it. 
Had  it  not  been  for  Minnie  he  would  have  fought  it — 
would  have  taken  his  chances  and  pitched  in — to  the 
death;  but  the  thought  of  the  mortal  hurt  he  would 
inflict  upon  Minnie  stayed  him.  He  simply  could 
not,  on  a  mere  fighting  chance,  wound  that  tender 
young  heart  that  trusted  him  so  absolutely.  She 
deserved  better  at  his  hands. 

It  was  a  very  bitter  struggle  that  he  waged  with 
[86] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

himself  before  he  finally  renounced  all  hope  of  ever 
realizing  in  this  world  the  ecstasy  and  fullness  of  love, 
and  accepted  in  its  place  the  dull  and  meagre  satis- 
faction of  mere  friendship.  For  he  was  convinced 
that  with  his  loss  of  Irene  happiness  for  him  was 
eternally  dead;  that  hereafter  he  must  walk  in 
shadow;  the  hunger  of  his  heart  and  body  always, 
always  unsatisfied.  A  door  of  his  soul  was  closed  and 
locked,  never  to  be  opened;  for  the  key  was  in  the 
keeping  of  the  girl  he  had  lost. 

But  with  all  the  strength  of  his  will  he  resolved 
that  never  while  he  lived  should  Minnie  know  the 
truth. 

"For  my  own  peace  as  well  as  hers,  I'll  never  leave 
her  suspect  that  she  don't  have  my  heart;  that  she 
ain't  my  true  mate." 

A  doubt  of  his  ability,  no  matter  how  good  his 
intentions,  to  keep  such  knowledge  from  so  sensitive 
a  soul  as  Minnie,  was  answered  by  his  sense  of  how 
dear,  after  all,  the  girl  was  to  him. 

"It  ain't  as  if  I  didn't  think  an  awful  lot  of  her;  as 
if  I  didn't  like  her  companionship  nearly  as  much, 
indeed,  as  she  thinks  she'll  like  mine!"  he  meditated 
as  he  recalled  how  glowingly  she  had  said  to  him, 
"  Think  of  it !  All  our  lives  together,  John ! " 

"I  know  she'll  make  me  a  good  wife — none  better 
could  I  find,"  he  drearily  tried  to  console  himself. 

"The  trouble  with  Nature  is,"  he  reflected,  "a  man 
don't  fall  in  love  with  a  woman's  wirtues,  but  with 
her  charm.  Why  don't  Nature  make  the  best 

[87] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

women  the  most  alluring?  For  that  Minnie's  a 
better  and  finer  girl  than  what  Irene  is  I'm  not  such  a 
boob  as  not  to  see — even  if  I  am  in  love  with  Irene  as 
fierce  as  a  man  could  otherwise  be!" 

It  was  fortunate  that  Minnie  entirely  failed  to 
understand  the  sombreness  of  John's  courting.  She 
took  it  for  dignified  seriousness  before  the  sacredness 
of  their  great  love;  before  the  solemnity  of  impending 
marriage.  It  did  not  dim  her  own  radiance,  though 
it  seemed  to  rebuke  what  was  almost  a  levity  of  happi- 
ness in  the  presence  of  an  Altar. 

"To  love  any  one  the  way  I  love  you,  John,  and  to 
have  you  love  me  back  again ! — I  never  conceited  that 
such  happiness  could  come  to  me.  All  my  life  the  good 
things  that  other  ones  had  seemed  to  skip  me.  I  never 
knew  my  mother;  we  were  always  poor  and  not  much 
respected;  Henny  always  used  me  ugly;  I  was  always 
wonderful  lonesome,  for  I  never  could  seem  to  make 
friends  wery  well  among  the  girls  of  Hesswille — much 
as  I  wanted  to — they  care  so  much  for  things  I  don't 
set  any  store  by " 

"What  are  the  things  the  other  girls  care  for, 
Minnie?"  asked  John — and  poor  Minnie  never 
suspected  that  his  question  hoped  to  draw  from  her 
some  word  about  Irene  as  one  of  "the  girls  of  Hess- 
wille" who  valued  things  which  Minnie  did  not. 
With  every  nerve  in  his  body  thrilling  to  the  name  of 
Irene,  any  least  word  which  Minnie  might  speak  of 
her  would  feed  the  hunger  of  his  heart.  "What  is  it 
they  like  that  you  don't?" 

[881 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Fellahs — and  dressing  up  all  the  time — and 
sitting  'round  wasting  their  time.  Most  of  the  girls 
never  think  about  improving  themselves,"  said 
Minnie  with  her  little  air  of  school  teacher  primness 
which  always  amused  John  because  it  seemed  to  him 
like  the  play-acting  of  a  child.  "I'd  sooner  use  my 
spare  time  in  improving  my  mind  than  in  just  sitting 
'round  doing  nothing — excepting  chewing  gum." 

"I  respect  you  for  those  sentiments,  Minnie,"  said 
John  gravely.  "And  if  I  may  say  so  without 
insulting  you,  I  think  you'll  make  a  most  splendid 
mother  of  our  children,  Minnie  dear." 

Minnie's  heart  seemed  to  stop  beating.  She 
closed  her  eyes  for  an  instant  to  control  her  dizziness. 

"If  I  can  raise  a  son  to  be  the  man  you  are,  John!" 
she  said  breathlessly. 

John  bent  to  kiss  very  gently  her  trembling  lips. 
There  was  no  passion  in  his  kiss,  but  Minnie's 
flaming  heart  did  not  know  it. 

The  two  engagements — that  of  Minnie  and  her 
brother — which  were  "put  out"  simultaneously, 
stirred  the  village  to  its  foundations.  It  was 
generally  conceded  that  Minnie  was  a  better  mate 
for  John  (except  in  a  worldly  and  material  sense) 
than  was  Irene. 

"She'll  make  him  a  steadier  wife.  Irene  she 
wants  to  be  such  a  high-flyer ! " 

"And  Minnie's  nicer  educated  than  what  Irene  is 
and  that  makes  something,  too,  John  bein*  a 
teacher." 

[89] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

As  for  Henry,  he  was  the  wonder  of  the  village. 
"Who'd  of  thought  he'd  ever  turn  out  like  this! — 
workin'  steady  at  a  good  job  and  promised  to  a  rich 
ketch  like  Irene  Laub  yet!" 

John's  mother  and  sisters,  who  adored  him  as  a 
paragon  of  all  the  virtues,  quite  openly  rejoiced  at 
his  change  of  sweethearts.  For  though  of  course 
humble  little  Minnie  Maus  was  not  worthy  of  him, 
yet  she  was  at  least  not  "so  much  for  dress  and 
runnin'"  as  Irene  was;  she  appreciated  John  so  much 
more  than  Irene  did;  she  was  "better  dispositioned." 

Their  rejoicing  was  brought  up  short,  however,  by 
John's  too  evident  wincing  from  it.  Their  dis- 
paragment  of  Irene  was,  he  plainly  showed,  extremely 
distasteful  to  him.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  defend 
her  stoutly  when  they  criticised  her. 

"You  don't  understand  Irene.  You  never  did. 
It  ain't  that  she's  light-minded — it's  just  that  she's 
full  of  life  and  spirit.  And  she  ain't  so  much  ugly- 
dispositioned  as  she's  just  awful  straightforward  and 
outspoken.  She  don't  do  like  some — talk  to  please 
the  people!  She  says  what  she  means." 

"If  you  like  her  so  well,  why  did  you  break  off 
with  her?"  asked  his  favourite  youngest  sister, 
Jennie,  who  dared  more  liberties  with  her  elder 
brother  than  the  rest  of  the  family  ever  quite  ven- 
tured. 

But  John,  instead  of  answering,  had  turned  his 
back  upon  her  and  walked  away,  a  white,  pained  look 
in  his  face  that  filled  his  loving  family  with  dismay. 

[90] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Can  it  be  that  Irene  Laub  turned  him  down? 
But  no,"  his  eldest  sister,  Katy,  answered  her  own 
doubt,  "that  could  not  be — as  good  a  ketch  as  what 
our  John  is  yet!  It  stands  to  reason!" 

"Yes,  anyhow!"  nodded  Mrs.  Wimmer.  "I 
guess  then!  " 

"And  when  you  think  what  Irene  has  took  up 
with  yet!"  exclaimed  Jennie.  "You  can't  make  me 
believe  that  a  girl  that  could  have  our  John  would 
take  Hen  Maus !  Well,  I  guess  anyhow  not ! " 

"Then  why  does  John  look  so  funny  when  we  talk 
down  on  Irene?  And  he's  so  downhearted  all  the 
time!  He  don't  act  a  bit  as  if  he  was  crazy  about 
Minnie.  And  he  don't  say  nothing  about  when 
they're  a-goin'  to  stand  up  before  the  minister — him 
and  Minnie." 

Meantime,  the  brightness  of  Minnie's  joy  was  a 
trifle  overshadowed  by  the  eternal  question  of  the 
wherewithal  to  live;  for  Henry  not  only  did  not 
provide  in  any  way  for  her  and  her  father,  he  did  not 
even  pay  his  own  board.  Having  begun  to  borrow 
his  salary  in  advance,  he  seemed  to  be  obliged  to  keep 
on  doing  so;  and  it  was  not  long  before  he  became 
rather  hopelessly  involved  in  debt.  At  the  same 
time,  he  stormed  and  raged  at  Minnie  for  the  meagre 
meals  she  set  before  him. 

"Drivin*  that  there  truck  gives  me  an  appetite,  I 
tell  you!  I  can't  work  if  I  don't  eat!"  he  would 
growl.  "  If  you  can't  gimme  decent  meals,  I'll  go  and 
board  at  the  Ao-tel!" 

[91] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"You'll  have  to  pay  board  there,"  Minnie 
reminded  him. 

"Aw,  shut  up!  Don't  you  sass  me  about  my 
affairs!" 

"If  you'll  pay  me  half  what  you'd  pay  at  the 
hotel,  Henry,  I'll  promise  you  better  meals  than  you'd 
get  there." 

"I  can't  pay  you  nothin'  till  I  ketch  up  with  what 
I  had  to  borrow,"  he  crossly  repulsed  her.  "You 
kin  work  for  your  own  livin' !  /  ain't  a-goin*  to  keep 
you !  You  kin  make  up  your  mind  to  that ! '  * 

"But  I  do  work,  don't  I?  I  cook  and  wash  and 
iron  and  clean  for  you  and  father.  What  do  you  do 
for  me?  You  don't  pay  me  for  it.  And  yet  you 
talk  about  my  living  on  you!  " 

"Why  don't  you  be  a  seamster,  the  way  you  said 
you  was  going  to,  when  you  lost  your  school?" 
Henry  sulkily  demanded. 

"Be  a  seamster  to  pay  for  your  meals?"  Minnie 
asked.  "You  know  that  since  you  got  the  mail 
route,  and  I  got  engaged  to  John,  no  one  brings  me 
sewing;  they  can't  believe  I  want  it.  And  then  I 
guess  they  think  I  don't  know  the  styles,  me  being  a 
Mennonite  so  long.  Anyhow,  they  don't  hire  me. 
Emmy  Slathauer  gets  all  the  sewing  that's  hired  in 
Hesswille.  But  I'm  not  asking  you  to  keep  me — I'm 
only  asking  you  to  keep  yourself;  to  pay  for  your  own 
meals." 

Henry's  reply "  to  such  unanswerable  statements 
was  usually  to  take  himself  off  with  an  oath. 

[92] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

When  the  pinch  of  poverty  at  home  became  too 
uncomfortable,  he  succeeded  in  persuading  Irene 
(by  means  of  such  appeals  to  her  passion  for  him  as 
he  knew  how  to  make)  to  be  married  very  suddenly; 
upon  which  he  promptly  packed  his  belongings  and 
went  to  live  on  the  fat  of  the  land  at  his  father-in-law's. 

"We  charge  you  no  board,"  Mr.  Laub  kindly  told 
him,  "because  we  know  you  got  to  help  Minnie  and 
your  pop.  All  we  ast  fur  your  board  is  that  you  haul 
our  goods  free  on  your  truck  and  tend  store  Saturday 
evenings  still." 

Henry  cheerfully  acquiesced  in  this  benevolent 
arrangement  for  enabling  him  to  help  Minnie  and 
his  father.  He  was  perfectly  willing  to  keep  that 
part  of  the  bargain  by  which  he  cheated  the  United 
States  mail  service  of  Mr.  Laub's  fee  for  carrying  his 
merchandise;  but  to  "tend  store  Saturday  evenings 
still"  was  another  matter. 

"We'll  see  about  that!"  said  Henry  to  himself. 

Minnie,  after  her  brother  left  home,  had  so  much 
less  work  to  do  and  so  much  time  on  her  hands,  that 
she  tried  hard  to  find  some  way  of  earning  money 
that  would  not  hurt  John's  pride.  But  as  she  could 
get  no  sewing  to  do,  there  seemed  to  be  no  work  in  the 
village  which  the  promised  bride  of  John  Wimmer 
could  do  without  humiliating  not  only  him,  but  his 
"folks." 

The  prospect  of  marrying  John  not  only  without 
the  usual  "aus  dire,"  but  without  even  necessary 
clothing,  was  deeply  mortifying  to  Minnie. 

[93] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"He's  worthy  of  the  best!  And  me — what  am 
I?" 

If  she  could  only  earn  enough  to  buy  food  for  her- 
self and  her  father  and  some  over  to  purchase  "goods  " 
for  her  wedding  outfit,  she  could  make  it  herself. 
She  would  have  plenty  of  time  to  do  it,  for  John  had 
not  yet  asked  her  to  name  the  day.  She  wondered 
sometimes  whether  it  was  the  prospect  of  having  her 
father  live  with  them  that  held  her  lover  back. 

"Are  you  willing,  Henny,"  she  asked  her  brother 
one  day,  a  few  weeks  after  his  marriage,  when  she 
happened  to  encounter  him  at  the  General  Store,  "to 
leave  John  support  your  own  father  after  we  are 
married,  and  you  not  give  a  cent  toward  it,  when 
you're  earning  so  much?" 

"If  John's  fool  enough  to  do  it,  I'm  sure  it  don't 
make  me  nothing!"  Henry  laughed. 

"I  know  you  don't  have  much  shame  about  you, 
Henny.  But  haven't  you  any — that  you'd  leave 
another  man  support  your  own  aged  and  feeble 
father?" 

"I'm  married  and  got  a  wife  to  keep!" 

"Her  father  keeps  her — and  you,  too!" 

"What's  that  to  you?  You  mind  your  own 
business!" 

"Won't  you  give  anything  at  all  toward  support- 
ing father?" 

"What  fur  should  I  support  Pop?  He  never  sup- 
ported me!" 

There  came  a  day  when  even  Doctor  Maus  realized 
[94] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

that  they  were  at  the  end  of  their  rope  and  must  find 
some  means  of  averting  actual  want.  He  was  too  old 
to  start  in  working  himself,  after  years  of  idleness 
during  which  his  belief  in  his  divine  mission  of  healing 
had  kept  him  a  dependent  upon  his  too  amiable 
young  daughter.  But  now  that  she,  the  only  prop 
of  his  old  age,  had  failed  him  (through  no  fault  of  hers, 
he  knew  well)  he  was  forced  to  face  a  situation  which 
he  would  have  preferred  to  ignore. 

"I'll  go  talk  to  Kenny,"  he  told  Minnie. 

"No  use,  father.     He  won't  help  us." 

"I  know  Henny  was  always  a  little  selfish  that 
way;  but  if  I  tell  him  we're  hungry  and  cold — well, 
he's  anyhow  my  own  son,  Minnie,  and  he's  human! 
I  can't  believe  he  won't  help  us  when  he's  earnin* 
such  good  pay." 

"You'd  better  not  ask  him,  father — he'll  only 
abuse  you." 

"You  hadn't  ought  to  talk  down  on  your  brother 
so,  Minnie — it  ain't  nice  of  you." 

"I'm  only  trying  to  save  you  from  having  your 
feelings  hurt,  father." 

But  her  father,  always  inclined  to  believe  that 
other  people  were  as  generous  with  their  worldly 
goods  as  he  was  with  his  prayers,  determined  to  put 
Henry  to  the  test.  So,  one  Saturday  evening,  just 
as  John  Wimmer  arrived,  as  usual,  to  take  Minnie 
buggy-riding,  the  doctor  slipped  out  of  the  house  and 
made  his  way  feebly  down  the  length  of  the  village 
to  the  garage  where  the  mail  truck  was  kept,  and 

[95] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

where  he  was  pretty  sure  to  find  Henry  loafing  with 
several  other  villagers — though  that  young  bride- 
groom was  supposed  to  be,  at  this  hour,  "tending 
store"  to  pay  for  his  board  hi  his  father-in-law's 
home. 

"Kin  I  speak  to  you  alone  for  a  minute,  Henny?" 
the  doctor  timidly  summoned  his  son  from  the 
group  surrounding  him.  "It's  some  important." 

Henry  knew  that  anything  that  could  goad  his 
father  to  exercising  such  unwonted  energy  as  to 
walk  the  length  of  the  village  to  seek  a  thing  he 
usually  avoided — an  interview  with  himself — must 
indeed  be  "some  important." 

He  leisurely  extricated  himself  from  his  cronies 
and  led  his  parent  away  from  them  to  the  other  end 
of  the  building. 

"What  d'you  come  here  bothering  me  about?"  he 
asked  in  a  surly  tone  as  he  leaned  against  the  wall  and 
picked  his  teeth  with  a  straw. 

"I  guess  you'll  have  to  help  us  a  little,  Henny — we 
ain't  got  nothing  in  the  house  to  eat  and  ain't  had  all 
day !  To-morrow's  Sabbath  and  we  ain't  got  nothing 
laid  in  for  meals.  The  stores  won't  give  us  credit  no 
more.  Mr.  Laub  won't  leave  us  charge  nothing. 
He  says  he's  got  enough  to  do  to  feed  you,  without 
feedin'  all  the  rest  of  the  fambly.  Minnie  had  so 
faint  and  sick  all  day,  she  could  har'ly  dress  her- 
self to  go  buggy-ridin'  along,  when  John  come  fur 
her." 

"Why  don't  you  try  your  prayin'  stunt  on  your- 
[96] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

self?     Pray  fur  purvisions  oncet!"  Henry  scornfully 
mocked  him. 

"It  ain't  no  use  to  pray  fur  un-impossible  things, 
Henny.  Us  we  can't  get  food  without  money  to  pay 
fur  it." 

"Why  should  I  give  you  money  to  keep  you? 
You  never  kep'  me,  did  you?  And  now  in  your  old 
age  you  want  to  live  on  me!" 

"I'd  work  now  if  I  wasn't  too  feeble!  We  never 
was  so  bad  off  as  what  we  are  now ! " 

"Why  don't  Minnie  get  to  work  and  earn  some- 
thing?" 

"She  says  the  only  work  she  could  get  in  the 
willage  would  be  to  go  out  washing — and  that  would 
disgrace  John  and  his  folks.  And  your  Irene 
neither  wouldn't  like  it  so  well  to  have  her  mister's 
sister  go  out  washing." 

"Och,  her!  It  makes  nothing  what  she  likes! 
Nor  it  makes  nothing  what  John  Wimmer  likes! 
Why  don't  he  git  married  to  Minnie  and  keep  her 
if  he's  too  stuck  up  to  leave  her  work?" 

"Would  you  leave  John  Wimmer  support  me, 
Henny,  and  you  not  help?  " 

"Look-a-here,  I  tell  you  I  don't  owe  you  nothin'! 
You  never  did  nothing  fur  me!" 

"  Yes,  I  did.     I— I  loved  you,  Henny ! " 

"It  didn't  feed  my  stummeek — your  lovin'  me!" 
sneered  Henry. 

"Well,  but  Minnie,  she  did  a-plenty  fur  you. 
Won't  you  help  her  any?" 

[971 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Leave  her  help  herself.  I  got  enough  on  my 
hands." 

"But,  Henny,  I  tell  you  we  ain't  got  nothing  to 
eat  in  the  house !  Us  we're  starvin',  Henry !  Gimme 
a  dollar  to  buy  food  fur  us!"  cried  the  old  man 
desperately. 

"I  ain't  got  but  seventy  cents  and  I  got  use  fur  it! 
I  toP  you  often  enough  a'ready  how  dumb  and 
ignorant  you  was  not  to  charge  nothing  fur  your 
prayin* — but  no,  you  wouldn't  never  listen  on  me! 
So  now  then  you  needn't  come  whimperin'  to  me 
about  your  hard  luck!  Leave  some  of  your  grateful 
patients  help  you  out.  Go  to  them! " 

"Henny!  Me  and  Minnie  we're  hungry!  Gimme 
that  seventy  cents  you  got!" 

"I  won't!  And  you  git  on  out  of  here  now  and 
quit  your  botherin'  me!" 

He  turned  away,  but  his  father  caught  his  arm  and 
stopped  him. 

"Help  us,  Henny — for  God's  sake!" 

Henry  shook  him  off.  "You  deserve  your  sufferin* 
fur  wastin'  your  time  prayin'!  I  wouldn't  help  if  I 
had  a-plenty!" 

"I  never  did  you  no  harm,  Henny!" 

"You  never  did  me  no  good!  Leave  go  my  arm 
and  go  on  home!" 

But  the  old  man  tightened  his  grip.     "I  can't 

believe  my  own  son  would  near  treat  me  like  this — 
j »> 

"Well,  I'll  prove  it  to  you  that  your  own  son  won't 
[98] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

give  you  a  thing  more'n  you  ever  give  him.  Go  on 
home  now,  I  tell  you — damn  you !  You  and  Minnie 
can  go  to  hell  fur  all  I  care!" 

He  jerked  his  arm  free  and  slouched  back  to  his 
companions,  who  with  mingled  curiosity  and  amuse- 
ment had  witnessed  his  "row"  with  his  "old 
man." 

Meantime,  Minnie  at  home  was  going  through  an 
experience  almost  as  strenuous  as  that  which  her 
father  was  having  with  his  son. 

When  John  led  her  out  of  the  house  to  lift  her  into 
his  high  buggy  she  had  suddenly  and  without  notice 
fainted  in  his  arms. 

The  shock  which  her  death-like  stillness  gave  him, 
as  he  bore  her  limp  body  back  into  the  house,  re- 
vealed to  him  how  dear  to  him  she  had  grown. 

In  his  search  for  restoratives,  when  he  had  lain  her 
on  the  kitchen  settee,  he  had  another  shock  at  sight 
of  a  larder  so  absolutely  empty  that  he  understood 
with  a  terrible  certainty  the  cause  of  poor  little 
Minnie's  illness. 

The  first  thing  he  did  after  she  "came  to,"  was  to 
borrow  some  milk  from  a  neighbour,  heat  it  and  feed 
it  to  her  with  a  spoon,  as  he  would  have  fed  a  sick 
baby. 

Then,  his  arm  about  her,  her  head  on  his  breast, 
his  gentle,  strong  hand  smoothing  her  hair  from  her 
pale  forehead,  she  confessed  to  him  her  struggles  of 
the  past  few  months. 

He  reproached  her,  of  course,  for  not  having  told 
[99] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

him   of  her   difficulties.     "Ain't   I   your   man? — to 
stand  between  you  and  troubles  like  this?  " 

"You  ain't  my  man  yet — and  I  didn't  feel  I  had 
the  right  to  burden  you  until  I'm  giving  you  in 
return  all  that  a  wife  can  give,  John." 

"You're  giving  me  an  awful  lot  every  day  of  your 
life,  Minnie!  I  don't  know  how  I  could  bear  up  and 
live  if  it  wasn't  for  you!" 

It  did  not  occur  to  Minnie  to  wonder  what  he  had 
to  "bear  up"  against. 

"I'm  so  glad  if  I  am  something  to  you,  John!"  she 
responded,  the  light  coming  into  her  eyes  which  any 
word  of  love  from  him  always  brought  there. 

"To  think  of  a  great  hulk  of  a  man  like  me  eating 
three  square  meals  a  day  and  you — a  dainty  little 
girl  like  you! — say,  Minnie!  The  citizens  of  this 
willage  ought  to  take  Hen's  job  away  from  him! 
He's  no  right  to  it.  They  got  it  for  him  to  help  you 
out — because  they  had  to  take  your  school  from 
you — not  because  they  wanted  to  favour  Hen." 

"Yes— I  know." 

"I  never  suspected  for  a  minute  that  he  wasn't 
keeping  you  and  your  father! " 

"He  has  never  given  us  a  penny." 

"You  mean  since — since  he  got  married?"  John 
gulped. 

"Nor  before  that.     Never  one  cent." 

"Och,  now,  Minnie!  If  any  one  but  you  told  me 
that,  I  couldn't  credit  it  that  a  man  could  be  that 
hoggish!" 

[100] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Yes,  ain't!"  sighed  Minnie. 

"Does  he  know  how  you  and  your  father  are 
faring  just  now?" 

"It  wouldn't  make  any  difference  to  him." 

"But  I'm  sure  it  must,  Minnie  dear.  Can  he 
forget  how  you  always  kept  him — clothed  and  fed 
him  and  worked  for  him?  But  no,"  John  added, 
shaking  his  head  hopelessly,  "I  mind  how  he  wouldn't 
even  do  so  much  as  carry  a  bucket  of  water  for  you  on 
wash  day — when  you  were  supporting  him!  It 
wonders  me  how  a  thing  in  human  form  could  be 
that  low  down !  Ain't,  Minnie  ?  " 

"Henny  never  thanked  me  in  his  life  for  anything 
I  ever  did  for  him,"  Minnie  admitted. 

"What  kind  of  a  husband  is  he  going  to  make  for 
poor  Irene!"  John  faltered. 

"He's  afraid  of  Irene,"  said  Minnie.  "She  can 
take  her  own  part." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it!  If  I  ever  hear  of  his  abusin' 
her,  I'll- 

He  checked  himself,  his  face  red  with  embarass- 
ment. 

"I  have  given  a  great  deal  of  reflection,  Minnie,  to 
some  things,"  he  said  ponderously,  "about  human 
life.  I  don't  favour  prisons  or  punishment  of 
criminals.  I  think  hopeless  criminals  should  be 
segregated  that  way,  on  an  island,  and  left  to  govern 
themselves — or  destroy  themselves.  Punishing 
don't  do  them  any  good;  it  only  makes  those  that  do 
the  punishing  wery  brutal.  But  when  it  comes  to  a 

[101] 


case  like  Hen — that's  had  loving  kindness  shown  to 
him  all  his  life — and  forbearance  and  patience — then 
I'm  for " 

He  paused  and  looked  so  grim  that  Minnie  smiled. 
"I'm  glad  you  can  be  stern  as  well  as  kind,  John — it 
makes  you  so  interesting!" 

"We  must  get  married  right  away,  Minnie — to- 
morrow morning  early  already.  I'd  say  to-night,  but 
you're  too  weak  to  drive  to  town  to  the  preacher's." 

"  Oh ! "  Minnie  caught  her  breath  and  the  colour  flew 
to  her  white  face.  "  But  I  ain't  got  any  clothes,  John. 
I  hadn't  any  money  to  buy  any,  and — and " 

"We'll  get  what  you  need  as  soon  as  you're  Mrs. 
Wimmer,"  John  said  as  he  closed  her  lips  with  a  kiss. 
"I'd  take  you  right  to  the  farm  till  we  got  this  house 
done  over  for  us,  but  on  account  of  your  father  I 
ru.ess  I  better  come  right  here  to  live — and  we  can 
liave  the  house  done  over  a  little  at  a  time." 

"Do  you  have  objections,  John,  of  keeping 
father?"  Minnie  timidly  asked. 

"Of  course  not,  Minnie.  If  you  wasn't  worth 
that  much  to  me " 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  Doctor 
Maus.  White  and  gaunt-eyed,  he  came  staggering 
into  the  kitchen  and  sank  into  the  nearest  chair.  He 
was  evidently  too  weak  and  wretched  to  note  the 
strangeness  of  the  fact  that  his  daughter  lay  prone 
upon  the  big  wooden  settee  which  stood  against  the 
wall  and  that  John,  sitting  at  one  end  of  it,  held  her 
head  against  his  breast. 

[1021 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Water!"  gasped  the  old  man.     "I  have  sick!" 

Minnie  tried  to  get  up  to  help  John  minister  to  her 
father,  but  though  she  managed  to  give  him  the 
settee  and  take  his  chair,  she  had  to  leave  it  to  John 
to  heat  and  feed  to  him  the  rest  of  the  milk  which  had 
been  borrowed. 

When  the  doctor  had  rallied  enough  to  talk  to 
them,  he  told  them,  with  a  fire  of  indignation  in  his 
eyes  such  as  Minnie  had  never  seen  in  them  before  in 
all  her  life,  of  his  appeal  to  his  son. 

"I  went  to  him — my  own  son — and  told  him  that 
his  sister  and  me,  his  father,  was  hungry! — starving! 
And  he  turned  me  off  with  a  curse!  He  cursed  me! 
Sayed  he  wouldn't  help  us  if  he  had  a-plenty!  And 
he  cursed  me  yet !  " 

"Never  mind,  father!'*  Minnie  soothed  him,  for  he 
was  working  himself  into  a  frenzy.  "Don't  mind 
Henny — he  don't  mean  all  he  says." 

"He  means  it  that  much  that  he'll  leave  us  die  of 
starvation  before  he'll  help  us! — and  him  with  full 
and  plenty!" 

"There,  there,  Doc,"  said  John,  "your  troubles 
are  over  now,  for  I'm  going  to  take  care  of  you  and 
Minnie  both  after  this.  Minnie  and  I  are  getting 
married  to-morrow.  What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"  And — and  me ?  "  faltered  the  old  man.  "  Minnie ! 
You  won't  desert  me,  too,  will  you — like  Henny?" 

When  they  had  reassured  and  comforted  him, 
John  helped  him  to  his  bed;  and  shortly  afterward 
he  took  his  leave. 

[1031 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"I  must  go  home  and  pack  my  trousseau"  he 
grinned  as  he  kissed  her  good-bye.  "Ain't,  little 
wife?" 

"And  me,  I  ain't  got  any  to  pa,ck!"  said  Minnie 
wistfully,  though  her  eyes  beamed  with  happiness. 
"It  seems,  John,  as  if  it  couldn't  be  that  I  am  getting 
married  to  you  to-morrow!" 

John  kissed  her  again — a  little  hastily — and  then 
hurried  away. 


[1041 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BUT  John  did  not  go  directly  home  to  pack 
his   "'trousseau."     Hitching   his   horse   to  a 
tree  a  little  distance  from  the  Maus's  home, 
and  taking  with  him  the  carriage  whip  which,  by  the 
way,  he  never  used  on  his  horse,  he  strolled  through 
the  empty  village  street.     It  was  after  ten  o'clock 
and  nearly  everyone  in  Hessville  was  abed. 

John  considered  very  earnestly,  as  he  wandered 
about,  his  whip  tucked  under  his  arm,  the  step  he 
was  going  to  take  on  the  morrow. 

He  was  going  to  be  married ! — and  to  another  than 
Irene!  His  passionate  rebellion  of  a  few  months 
back  had  changed  to  a  dogged  submission  to  the 
inevitable;  but  there  were  recurrent  hours  of  longing 
that  were  devastating;  and  this  to-night  was  one  of 
them.  If  it  were  rosy,  radiant,  queenly  Irene  that 
was  going  to  be  his  bride! 

He  tried  to  crush  from  his  heart  such  disloyalty — 
for  therein  lay  madness! 

"How  can  I  hope  to  be  a  good  husband  to  Minnie, 
feeling  the  way  I  do  about  Irene?  How  can  I  be  as 
true  to  Minnie  as  I  expect  her  to  be  to  me? — true 
even  in  her  secret  thoughts?  How  would  I  feel  if  I 

knew  she  was  longing  for  another  man " 

[1051 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

But  John  realized  ruefully  that  one  cannot  reason 
with  one's  appetites  and  emotions;  there  was  the 
fact  before  him — he  loved  Irene;  and  Minnie  he  did 
not  love — not,  at  any  rate,  with  the  passion  that 
demanded  marriage. 

His  meditative  wandering  brought  him  at  last  to 
the  only  lighted  building  in  the  village — the  garage 
where  Henry  Maus  still  loafed  with  his  cronies. 
John  felt,  as  he  drew  near  to  it,  a  tingling  sensation 
along  his  strong  right  arm;  some  deep,  prophetic 
instinct  told  him  that  an  effective  means  of  working 
off  the  feverish  restlessness  of  his  soul  to-night  would 
be  to  let  out  with  all  his  might  his  long-repressed 
indignation  against  the  brother  of  his  bride,  the 
husband  of  the  woman  he  coveted. 

Clutching  his  riding  whip,  he  stalked  into  the 
garage. 

Henry  was  sprawled  on  a  bench,  his  hands  under 
Iris  head,  his  five  companions  sitting  or  lying  all 
about  him,  smoking,  chewing,  chuckling  over  a 
nasty  yarn  that  one  of  them  was  relating. 

The  appearance  of  John,  whom  all  the  village  held 
in  a  curious  respect,  startled  the  group  into  an 
astonished  silence.  Two  of  them,  who  were  young 
pupils  of  his,  shrank  in  shame  at  being  discovered 
listening  to  a  ribald  story. 

John  walked  straight  to  the  bench  where  Henry 
lay  and  jerked  him  to  his  feet  by  his  collar.  A 
flourish  of  his  whip  scattered  his  five  companions 
like  chaff.  They  fled  ignominiously  from  the  spot. 

[1061 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Henry  was  a  burly  fellow,  but  John's  choking 
clutch  on  his  collar  found  him  helpless.  He  was 
white  to  the  lips  with  fright,  for,  being  a  bully,  he 
was  of  course  a  great  coward. 

"You  lee'  me  be!"  he  gasped,  his  teeth  chattering. 
"I  never  done  you  nothing!" 

"If  I  give  you  your  deserts,  I'll  lash  you  until 
you're  as  weak  as  your  starving  father  and  sister  are 
to-night!"  said  John.  He  spoke  with  a  grim  quiet 
that  was  far  more  terrifying  than  loud  anger,  while  he 
tightened  like  a  vise  his  hold  on  his  victim's  collar. 
"  If  I  thought  this  whip  would  cut  through  to  your  soul 
(if  you've  got  a  soul)  I'd  beat  you  till  I  got  there. 
But,  dirty  dog  that  you  are,  I  think  it  would  be 
wasted  work.  It  ain't  in  you  to  be  decent  and  that's 
all  there  is  to  it.  So  if  I  did  beat  you  up  it  would 
only  be  giving  myself  a  rare  treat  that  wouldn't  do 
you  (nor  me)  any  good.  I  can  hardly  trust  myself  to 
begin  to  beat  you — I  might  kill  you!  Murder  ain't 
the  worst  crime — it  would  be  a  holy  act  to  kill  a 
vicious  cur  like  you  that  ain't  any  good  to  yourself  or 
any  one  else.  Listen  to  me,  Hen  Maus!  If  ever  in 
all  my  life  I  hear  of  your  giving  grief  or  trouble  to 
Irene  Laub,  you'll  reckon  with  me!  Do  you  under- 
stand?" 

He  paused  for  a  reply,  but  Henry  was  sullenly 
silent. 

"Answer  me!"  demanded  John,  shaking  him  like  a 
rat.  "Do  you  understand?" 

"That's  a  nice  way  fur  Minnie's  fellah  to  be 
[107] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

talkin'  about  another  girl,  ain't  it? — and  that  other 
girl  married  yet!  Where's  your  morals  at?"  gasped 
Henry,  his  tone  more  abject  than  defiant. 

"Answer  me!"  repeated  John.  "Do  you  under- 
stand that  you'll  reckon  with  me  if  ever  you  hurt  a 
hair  of  Irene's  head?" 

"You  better  talk  about  Irene's  hurtin*  my  hairs! 
It's  her  does  the  hair  pullin'.  Ha!"  Henry  feebly 
laughed.  "Irene  kin  take  her  own  part — you're  got 
no  need  to  worry  about  her!" 

The  picture  evoked  by  these  words,  of  the  de- 
grading relation  Irene  bore  to  this  brute — Irene,  the 
"rare  and  radiant  maiden,"  idealized  and  adored, 
made  John  suddenly  feel  limp;  all  the  vim  and  fire 
went  out  of  him;  his  hand  dropped  from  his  captive's 
neck;  he  leaned  weakly  against  the  wall. 

"Get  out!"  he  said  hoarsely.  "Go  before  I  kill 
you!" 

Henry  needed  no  second  bidding.  In  an  instant 
he  was  out  of  the  building  and  speeding  toward  the 
General  Store. 

John,  getting  himself  together,  made  his  way 
slowly,  and  with  a  heart  of  lead,  back  to  his  buggy. 

The  next  day  Hessville  was  electrified  with  the 
news  that  Minnie  Maus  and  John  Wimmer  had 
gone  to  town  to  "stand  up  before  the  minister." 

John  took  his  bride  for  a  two  days'  wedding 
journey  to  visit  his  married  sister  in  Philadelphia. 
It  was  Minnie's  first  sight  of  a  big  city  and  her  naive 
wonder  and  delight  were  very  entertaining  to  John, 

[108] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

who,  from  what  he  considered  his  very  extensive 
knowledge  of  life,  found  great  pleasure,  school  teacher 
as  he  was,  in  instructing  her  innocence  and  ignorance. 

"Ain't,  John,  all  the  ladies  have  pretty  com- 
plexions in  Philadelphia — even  the  old  ones  yet!"  she 
wonderingly  exclaimed  as  they  walked  down  Chest- 
nut Street  on  Sunday  afternoon. 

"Minnie!  These  painted  up  women  in  big 
cities  are  a  lot  of  syreens  and  lure-lyes!  Not  fit  for 
a  pure  maiden  like  you  to  look  at ! " 

"Painted!  Are  their  complexions  painted  yet?" 
asked  Minnie  in  great  surprise. 

"They  mostly  are,"  affirmed  John  with  the 
conviction  of  one  who  knows  the  wicked  world. 
"  The  life  of  a  great  city  is  wery  degenerate,  Minnie ! " 

"But  there  are  so  many  of  these  pretty -complected 
women,  John — are  they  all  sy-reens  and  lure-lyes — • 
or  whatever?  "  inquired  Minnie,  appalled. 

"Well,  that  I  couldn't  rightly  say — that  they're 
all  bad." 

"Some  of  them  look  so  nice!"  said  Minnie.  "And 
the  ones  that  look  the  nicest  ain't  so  fancy  dressed 
either,"  she  added,  a  quick,  instinctive  discrimination 
having  noted  the  superior  beauty  of  simplicity.  "I 
sometimes  think  the  wreath  on  my  hat  is  too 
thick.  When  I  get  home  I'll  make  some  of  it  off. 
I  have  a  little  too  much  flowers  at." 

"But  it  becomes  you  something  surprising!" 
said  John  kindly. 

"I  like  to  look  nice  for  your  sake,"  she  returned, 
[109] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

nestling  a  bit  closer  to  his  arm,  her  face  illumined; 
and  John,  as  he  looked  down  into  that  glowing  face, 
metaphorically  called  upon  his  own  head  the  male- 
dictions of  the  gods,  should  he  ever  by  word  or  act 
hurt  or  grieve  this  sweet  and  tender  girl  whom  life 
had  given  to  him  to  protect  and  cherish. 

His  sister,  who  had  been  living  in  Philadelphia  for 
six  months,  languishing  with  homesickness  for 
Hessville,  was  pathetically  glad  to  see  her  brother  and 
his  bride. 

"I  can't  home  myself  here  in  this  here  big  place," 
she  told  them  tearfully.  "Folks  here  in  Phil-delphy 
spend  so!  Och,  it  takes  my  breath  how  they 
spend!  And  when  I  won't  spend  so  reckless,  too, 
then  they  think  I'm  near  with  my  money  that  way ! " 

"You  needn't  care  what  other  ones  think, 
Martha,"  said  John,  "so  long  as  you're  satisfied." 

"Yes,  well,  but  I  ain't  like  you,  John,  not  to  care 
what  other  ones  think.  I  know  you  never  cared;  and 
folks  always  seemed  to  hold  you  all  the  higher  for  not 
caring." 

"It's  more  to  me  what  I  think  of  myself  than  what 
other  ones  think  of  me,"  said  John — and  Minnie,  her 
soul  in  her  eyes,  gazed  at  him  admiringly. 

"It  seems  so  queer  to  me  the  way  folks  like  to  do 
here  in  this  city,"  continued  his  sister.  "There's  a 
house  'round  the  corner  that  has  thirty  rooms  in  and 
only  a  man  and  his  son  living  in  it,  with  a  whole  lot 
of  hired  help.  Why,  I  heerd  they  keep  one  man  just 
to  do  nothing  at  all  but  answer  the  front  door  bell  and 

[1101 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

show  wisitors  in  the  parlour  and  then  holler  fur  Mister 
and  his  son  to  come  to  the  parlour.  An  able-bodied 
man  doin'  nothing  but  that!  Yes,  it  would  wonder 
you  the  way  the  folks  that  keeps  hired  help  wants  to 
be  waited  on!  It  don't  seem  like  Christians." 

"And  it  ain't  either,"  agreed  John.  "I  think  the 
day  will  come  when  no  one  will  have  wealth  to  spend 
that  he  didn't  work  for." 

"There's  them  that  tells  me,"  said  Martha,  "that 
Phil-delphy  ain't  in  it  with  Paris  for  grandness! 
Just  to  think!" 

"Paris  is  pretty — so  considered  anyhow,"  John 
granted,  "but  after  all,  there  ain't  any  place  like 
Hesswille." 

"I  think,  too,"  smiled  Minnie. 

"Yes,  and  me,  too!"  sighed  Martha.  "I  wisht 
Mister  was  located  there  instead  of  here  where  I 
can't  home  myself.  I'll  have  homesick  worse  than 
ever  when  yous  go  home!  Can't  yous  stay  over  till 
a  couple  days  more?  " 

"I  couldn't  wery  well  let  father  alone  any  longer, 
Martha,"  pleaded  Minnie.  "Thank  you  kindly. 
We  only  left  him  food  enough  to  last  two  days — 
wegetables  and  sausage  from  your  father's  farm  that 
John  brought  in." 

"And  we  have  to  get  at  and  fix  our  house,"  added 
John — and  Minnie  thrilled  to  hear  him  call  it  "our" 
house.  "We're  going  to  make  it  as  homelike  as  we 
can.  I  got  a  little  saved  toward  it.  To  be  sure,  not 
quite  enough.  We'll  have  to  go  in  debt  a  little.'* 

run 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"But  you'll  soon  get  that  paid  off,"  Martha 
encouraged  them,  "with  Minnie  being  the  saving 
housekeeper  she  is  and  you  making  such  good  money, 
John,  and  livin'  in  such  a  cheap  place  like  what 
Hesswille  is.  Here,  no  matter  what  Mister  earns,  it 
takes  it  all  just  to  set  the  table." 

"And  that  man  and  his  son  in  a  thirty-room  house 
with  a  lot  of  hired  girls!"  said  John.  "There's 
something  ain't  right  about  it — they  with  full  and 
plenty  and  not  working — and  you,  no  matter  how 
hard  you  work,  with  hardly  enough  to  get  along." 

Meantime,  Doctor  Maus's  loneliness  at  home  was 
broken  by  an  amazing  variation  of  the  monotony. 
On  Monday  morning,  a  few  hours  before  the  ex- 
pected return  of  the  bride  and  groom,  he  received  a 
letter  from  a  lawyer.  Not  in  many  years  had  the 
mail  brought  any  letters  to  the  Maus  household 
except  from  sick  people  who  wanted  help.  But  this 
letter  was  not  from  one  of  these.  Its  contents 
fairly  stunned  the  recipient  for  a  time.  But  pres- 
ently, when  he  had  recovered  a  little  from  the  shock, 
he  began  to  feel  glad  that  it  had  happened  in  Minnie's 
absence,  for  that  gave  him  time  to  think  it  over  and 
decide  what  to  do  about  it. 

"I  ain't  got  long  to  live  no  more — I  feel  I  ain't," 
he  thought.  "Minnie's  took  good  care  of  me  all  her 
life  since  she  was  big  enough.  Henny  he  never  did 
nothing  but  abuse  me.  Now,  then,  Minnie's  got 
married  and  she's  did  grand  for  herself,  marryin' 
John  Wimmer  with  a  good  moral  character  and  a 

[112] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

good  job  and  a  rich  pop.  Will  she  stick  by  me  now 
that  she's  so  well -fixed?  Will  her  Mister  persuade 
her  to  turn  me  off  and  put  me  to  the  county  poor 
house?  I  can't  look  to  Henny  for  nothing.  It's  up 
to  Minnie.  Well,  till  I  see  oncet  how  they  treat  me, 
I  ain't  sayin'  a  word  to  'em  about  this  here  grateful 
patient.  I'll  hide  this  here  letter  good — till  a  while 
yet." 

So   he   hid   his   letter   away   very   carefully  and 
cunningly — to  bide  his  time. 


113] 


CHAPTER  IX 

f  •  \HE  tumbledown  old  Maus  home  was  in  so 
much  worse  condition  than  John  had  realized 

A  that  when  the  necessary  repairs  and  altera- 
tions were  only  half  finished  he  had  used  up  all  that 
he  had  saved  hi  three  years  and  so  the  debt  he  was 
obliged  to  contract  far  exceeded  his  calculations. 
His  well-to-do  father  would  not  give  him  a  dollar,  so 
he  was  obliged  to  square  his  broad  shoulders  to  bear 
the  burden  of  supporting  a  household  and  paying  a 
large  annual  interest  on  a  mortgage. 

It  was  more  than  he  had  bargained  for.  He  hated 
debt.  He  could  know  no  peace  until  he  was  rid  of  it. 
His  face,  after  a  time,  began  to  look  careworn. 

"I  could  skimp  and  deny  myself  till  it's  paid 
a'ready,  but  I  hate  to  skimp  Minnie.  She's  never 
had  anything  in  her  life — no  pleasures,  no  pretty 
clothes,  not  a  thing  that  other  young  girls  always  had. 
And  debt  or  no  debt,  I'm  darned  if  I  don't  see  to  it 
that  she  gets  some  fun  now  !  " 

But  as  the  cost  of  the  house  repairing  mounted 
higher  and  higher  with  the  progress  of  the  work, 
other  expenses  piled  themselves  upon  the  pyramid. 
Doctor  Maus  fell  ill  and  had  to  have  a  physician  and 
medicine.  And  one  day  Minnie  told  him  the  very 

[114] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

welcome  news  that  they  were  going  to  have  a  child. 
Welcome  in  spite  of  the  fact  that,  from  the  ex- 
perience of  his  sister  Martha,  he  knew  that  the  cost 
of  a  baby  was,  in  these  days,  almost  prohibitive. 
A  baby  was,  indeed,  an  expensive  luxury.  How,  on 
seventy -five  dollars  a  month  for  eight  months  of  the 
year,  he  was  going  to  be  able  to  meet  all  these 
expenses,  was  a  puzzle. 

*'Mebby  I'll  have  to  let  teaching  and  go  to  other 
work,"  he  thought  with  a  sinking  heart.  Teaching 
was  the  work  he  did  best;  the  work  he  most  loved  to 
do.  He  would  hate  to  give  it  up. 

"Is  everything  I  care  for  being  taken  from  me? 
Am  I  a  Job?"  he  sadly  wondered. 

To  be  sure,  he  was  not  insensible  of  the  compensa- 
tions that  came  with  his  trials.  If  Minnie  was  not 
the  bride  of  his  passion  and  yearning,  she  was  at 
least  so  comforting  and  interesting  a  companion  that 
he  never  parted  from  her  without  a  sense  of  missing 
her  and  never  returned  to  her  without  eagerness. 
Her  advice  and  assistance  in  his  school  work,  es- 
pecially in  the  problem  of  understanding  girls,  her 
sympathy  with  and  comprehension  of  his  quite  un- 
usual aims  and  ideals,  the  stimulous  of  her  own 
enthusiasm  for  his  work,  were  not  only  invaluable  to 
him,  but  a  great  delight. 

"We  always  seem  to  have  so  much  of  interest 
between  us,"  he  reflected.  "She's  got  good  brains, 
Minnie  has,  the  way  she  understands  even  the 
politics  yet,  that  she  reads  in  the  newspapers!  I 

[115] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

never  knew  another  girl  I  could  conwerse  to  about 
interesting  subjects  the  way  I  can  to  Minnie.  That's 
a  great  point  in  a  wife!" 

When,  after  a  time,  her  condition  made  it  necessary 
to  hire  the  washing,  and  when  the  physician  ordered 
a  special  diet  and  an  expensive  tonic  for  Doctor 
Maus,  John  saw  that  he  could  never  hope  to  work  his 
way  out  financially  through  school  teaching;  he  would 
simply  have  to  make  up  his  mind  to  resign  from  his 
school  and  find  more  lucrative  employment. 

With  a  heavy  heart  he  planned  to  spend  the  few 
days'  vacation  at  Christmas  time  in  looking  for  a 
position  in  the  near-by  town  of  Lancaster. 

He  did  not  tell  Minnie  of  his  intention.  She  was 
so  proud  of  his  being  "the  teacher,"  and  she  would  so 
grieve  over  his  sacrifice;  for  she  knew  how  he  loved 
his  work.  In  her  condition  she  must  be  spared  as 
much  as  possible  from  the  anxieties  of  their  limited 
means.  He  could  not  shield  her  from  them  entirely; 
she  knew  there  was  not  money  to  buy  the  necessary 
baby  clothes  and  that  they  would  have  to  charge  a 
bill  at  the  General  Store  for  that  precious  little  out- 
fit; she  knew,  also,  that  their  weekly  bill  for  groceries 
and  meat  could  not  always  be  met  promptly  and  that 
the  mounting  doctor's  bill  for  her  father  could  not 
be  paid  for  a  long  time.  These  things  clouded  not  a 
little  the  brightness  of  her  happy  love. 

Meantime,  the  sick  old  man,  Doctor  Maus,  was 
silently  observing  the  conditions  in  his  home  as  he 
had  never  before  in  all  his  life  taken  cognizance  of  the 

[116] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

practical  difficulties  of  existence.  His  recent  new 
experience  of  suffering  from  actual  hunger;  the 
shock  of  discovering  that  his  only  son  would  see  him 
starve  before  he  would  put  himself  out  to  help  him; 
and  the  subsequent  shock  of  that  astounding  letter 
from  the  lawyer  of  a  grateful  patient,  had  all  com- 
bined to  rouse  him  to  a  realization  of  some  things 
which  he  had  hitherto  taken  entirely  for  granted. 

He  saw  himself  helpless,  useless,  dependent  upon 
the  charity  of  his  daughter's  husband,  yet  furnished 
with  delicacies  to  tempt  his  sick  palate,  while  his  son- 
in-law,  accustomed  to  the  abundant  table  of  the 
Wimmer  farm,  now  half  starved  himself  to  keep 
down  the  store  bill.  He  saw  himself  made  com- 
fortable in  an  orderly  bedroom  while  John  and 
Minnie,  during  the  upheaval  of  remodelling  the 
house,  made  the  best  of  a  room  in  the  loft.  He  saw 
Minnie  awkwardly  trying  to  make  shirts  and  collars 
for  John  who  was  used  to  wearing  the  kind  you 
bought  at  a  "Gent's  Furnishing"  shop  at  Lancaster. 
He  saw  his  young  daughter's  pathetic  efforts  at 
devising  a  baby's  outfit  from  scraps  and  patches. 

One  evening  when  Minnie,  suffering  from  back- 
ache, had  gone  to  bed  early,  the  old  man  called 
John  to  his  bedside. 

"I  ain't  got  long  to  live  no  more,  John." 

"So  the  doctor  says,  father." 

"I  see  how  I  never  done  right  by  Minnie." 

John  did  not  reply. 

"But  I  never  rightly  knowed  I  was  not  doing  my 
[117] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

dooty  to  my  child.  She's  a  prize  you're  got,  John! 
Fur  all  that  I  never  done  nothing  much  fur  her,  she 
always  done  all  she  could  fur  me.  And  she  never 
blamed  me,  neither,  nor  treated  me  ugly." 

"Why  don't  you  say  all  this  to  her?"  asked  John. 

"I'm  a-goin'  to  before  I  die  a'ready.  But  to-night 
I  got  to  talk  to  you.  It's  about  a  matter  that's  some 
important.  I  choosed  this  evening  when  Minnie's 
not  round." 

"All  right,  father,"  John  replied,  drawing  his  chair 
closer  and  folding  his  arms.  "  I'm  ready." 

"It's  about  Henny,  John." 

John  saw  what  was  coming.  He  was  going  to  be 
asked  to  take  over  yet  another  financial  burden;  to 
look  after  Hen  and  not  let  him  come  to  want,  if  the 
Laubs  threw  him  out — which  some  day  they  would 
certainly  do.  Rumour  said  that  they  were  threaten- 
ing to  do  so;  for  not  only  had  he  lost  his  rural  delivery 
job,  but  he  had  been  found  by  his  father-in-law  to 
be  an  entirely  unreliable  assistant  in  the  General 
Store.  Of  these  facts  John,  in  common  with  all 
Hessville,  was  aware. 

He  made  a  quick  decision  as  he  waited  for  the 
sick  man  to  continue.  "I'll  ease  his  mind  for  him 
about  his  good-for-nothing  son,  so  he  can  die  in 
peace;  I'll  promise  any  old  thing.  But  Hen  Maus 
would  not  enjoy  himself  living  on  mel" 

"Henny  wasn't  never  a  good  son  to  me,"  resumed 
Doctor  Maus,  "nor  a  good  brother  to  Minnie." 

"Right  you  are,  father." 
[118] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"When  I  went  to  him,  starving — he  cursed  me! 
And  turned  me  away!" 

"He'll  reap  what  he  has  sowed!"  said  John  grimly. 

"It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  Minnie  and  you,  fur  me  to 
leave  my — my  estate — so  as  Henny  could  get  any  of 
it  away  from  Minnie." 

"This  house,  you  mean?"  inquired  John,  sup- 
pressing a  smile  at  hearing  the  little  old  frame 
dwelling  called  an  "estate."  "But  we  did  arrange 
that,  you  know,  before  I  began  the  repairs.  Do  you 
forget  that  the  deed  to  the  property  is  in  Minnie's 
name?"  he  asked  in  some  surprise,  for  Doctor  Maus 
had  never,  in  all  his  illness,  shown  any  signs  of  a 
mental  breakdown. 

"To  be  sure  I  don't  forget — my  mind  ain't  gone 
nowheres,"  the  doctor  reassured  him.  "It  ain't  this 
old  shanty  I  had  reference  to  when  I  referred  to  my 
estate" 

"Oh!  So  you've  got  another  estate,  have  you, 
concealed  somewheres  about  you?"  smiled  John 
indulgently.  He  could  not  imagine  what  the  old 
man  was  driving  at. 

"Yes,  I  have.  And  after  I'm  dead,  I  want  fur  you 
and  Minnie  to  have  all  and  Henny  none.  I've  been 
thinking,  while  I  was  laying  here,  how  I  could  so  fix  it 
that  Henny  can't  get  none.  You  see,  a  will  couldn't  fix 
it  so,  fur  Henny  he  could  break  the  will  and  take  one 
half.  And  that  I  don't  want  and  won't  have." 

"Raving  delirious!"  thought  John,  regarding  the 
doctor  anxiously.  "  I  wonder  if  I  better  call  Minnie." 

[1191 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Henny  don't  deserve  nothing  off  of  me!"  re- 
peated Maus. 

"That  he  don't!"  John  humoured  him. 

"Not  oncet  was  he  in  to  see  me  since  I  had  so 
sick!" 

"  If  you  want  him,  I'll  bring  him  to  you." 

"No,  you  needn't  to  trouble.  It's  you  and 
Minnie,  and  not  Henny,  that's  taking  care  of  me  and 
denyin'  yourselfs  to  give  to  me!  I  see  it  plain 
enough!  And  so,  I'm  fixin'  it  that  yous  two  get 
all." 

"Thanks,"  said  John  kindly — and  added  to  him- 
self, "for  nothing!" 

"The  way  I'm  doin'  it  is  this — I'm  makin'  it  over 
to  you  before  I  die.  Right  aways.  And  I'm  givin* 
it  to  you,  because  Minnie  she's  just  that  soft-hearted, 
she'd  share  up  with  Henny,  whether  or  no." 

"Where  is  this  great  estate,  father?  Have  you 
been  speculating  in  Wall  Street,  or  whatever?" 

"You  said  where  it  was — concealed  somewheres 
about  me.  I  got  it  under  the  mattress.'* 

John  was  startled.  There  was  no  glare  of  delirium 
in  the  doctor's  eyes;  he  spoke  calmly  and  deliberately; 
yet  his  words  were  madness. 

John  half  rose  to  go  and  consult  Minnie  about  it, 
when  the  patient,  lifting  himself  with  a  great  effort, 
got  his  hand  under  the  edge  of  the  mattress  and 
drew  forth  an  envelope. 

"There's  my  estate!"  he  gasped,  thrusting  the 
envelope  at  John  and  sinking  back  again,  exhausted, 

[120J 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

among  his  pillows.  "A  grateful  patient  died  and 
inherited  it  to  me!" 

"Did  he  die  of  your  prayin'?"  demanded  John. 

"I  cured  him  of  cancer  by  the  power  of  prayer. 
Then  he  up  and  died  of  consumption.  The  doctors 
claimed  that  that's  what  ailed  him  all  along — • 
consumption.  When  I  cured  his  cancer,  they 
claimed  he  didn't  never  have  no  cancer.  Yes,  that's 
how  ignorant  they  are  yet!  But  he  knowed  I  cured 
his  cancer.  '  Doc,'  he  sayed  to  me,  *  I'd  be  a  well  man 
if  it  wasn't  fur  this  here  damned  consumption  that's 
got  me  now!'  he  sayed.  'If  you'd  of  come  to  me 
sooner,'  I  tol'  him,  'before  it  got  sich  a  headway  on 
you,  I'd  of  cured  you  of  it.  But  now  it's  went  too  far 
fur  the  power  of  prayer  to  reach,'  I  tol'  him." 

"Is  prayer  limited,  then,  in  its  reaching  power?" 
asked  John. 

"No,  but  faith  is.  Oncet  one  of  your  lungs  is 
away,  it  takes  more'n  mortal  faith  to  believe  that 
prayer  can  restore  that  there  lung  in  your  chest. 
Open  that  there  enwe/ope,  John.  That  there's  my 
estate.  I  got  it  the  day  you  and  Minnie  was  married. 
I  kep'  it  from  yous  till  I  seen  oncet  how  yous  would 
treat  me.  Yes,  when  yous  two  didn't  know  I  had 
a  dollar  in  the  world,  yous  both  treated  me  as  good 
as  yous  otherwise  could.  So  now  I  make  over  to  yous 
my  whole  estate — on  condition  of  a  promise." 

John,  not  expecting  much,  if,  indeed,  anything  at 
all,  drew  forth  the  letter  from  the  lawyer  of  the 
grateful  patient,  who  had  written  to  inform  Doctor 

[1211 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Maus  that  he  was  the  sole  heir  to  an  estate  worth 
thirty  thousand  dollars,  consisting  of  a  large  farm 
equipped  with  live  stock,  farm  implements,  a  large 
dwelling-house,  barns,  and  outhouses  A  purchaser 
offered  to  buy  it  at  once  for  thirty  thousand 
dollars. 

"I  wrote  off  a  letter  to  the  lawyer,"  explained 
Doctor  Maus,  "telling  him  I  agreed  to  sell.  So  he 
sold  and  sent  me  that  there  check  fur  thirty  thousand 
dollars" — pointing  to  the  green  slip  of  paper 
attached  to  the  letter.  "I  got  it  deposited  in  the 
Hesswille  bank.  It's  waiting  there  fur  you,  John. 
Now  I  want  to  make  it  out  payable  to  you — on  one 
condition." 

John's  first  feeling,  when  he  could  think  through  his 
dazed  amazement,  was  a  great  thankful  relief  that  he 
need  not  now  give  up  his  school.  After  that,  his  emo- 
tions crowded  upon  him  almost  too  fast  for  recogni- 
tion; the  lifting  of  the  strain  of  anxiety,  the  trained 
nurse  for  Minnie,  the  now  accessible  baby  outfit, 
the  more  abundant  food  which  Minnie's  health 
demanded,  the  payment  of  all  their  debts,  the  nice 
furniture  they  could  buy  for  their  home.  The  world 
in  a  moment  became  transformed. 

"Och!" — he  suddenly  recalled  something — "Now 
I  understand  why  that  bank  clerk,  Ben  Heinzleman, 
looked  so  funny,  still,  whenever  I  went  to  the  bank! 
I  used  to  tell  him,  still,  that  he  acted  like  as  if  he  had 
a  joke  on  me  up  his  sleeve!" 

"And  he  had,   too,"  smiled  the  doctor  feebly. 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"He  knowed  what  you  didn't  suspicion — that  you 
had  a  rich  father-in-law!  Ain't?" 

"I  certainly  never  guessed  that  I  had  married  the 
daughter  of  a  Plute  yet ! " 

"No,  I  guess  anyhow  not!" 

"What  will  Minnie  say!"  exclaimed  John  joyously. 
"I  feel  like  wakin'  her  up  to  tell  her  such  good  news! " 

"No — I  got  to  talk  to  you — and  there  ain'tsuchalot 
of  time  left  no  more,  John.  Anyhow  the  news  would 
excite  Minnie  and  keep  her  awake,  and  she  needs  her 
rest.  It'll  be  time  enough  to  tell  her  till  morning." 

"All  right,  father." 

"She'll  be  glad  more  fur  your  sake  than  fur  her 
own.  I  think  she  was  feelin'  it  some  that  me  and  her 
was  a  burden  to  you." 

"Minnie  surely  knows  she's  all  my  comfort  and 
happiness  in  life,"  said  John  humbly. 

"I'm  glad  and  thankful  she's  got  such  a  good 
Mister!" 

"That  condition  you  make,  father?  I  guess  it  is 
that  Minnie  and  I  pass  our  promise  to  take  care  of 
Henny  if  he  needs  us — ain't?" 

"That  you  don't  take  care  of  Henny!  That  you 
never  give  him  a  dollar  of  this  here  fortune.  I  see 
now  how  wrong  I  brang  up  my  son.  This  here 
money  would  only  do  him  harm.  The  best  thing  fur 
Henny  is  to  be  throwed  on  hisself,  with  no  one  to 
turn  to.  It's  the  only  thing  will  make  a  man  of 
him — if  anything  kin  do  it.  Indeed  I  wisht  Minnie 
hadn't  of  always  stood  between  me  and  want!  I  tell 

[123] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

you,  John,  I  learnt  more  from  them  couple  days' 
hunger  that  time,  just  before  you  and  Minnie  got 
married  together,  than  anything  ever  learnt  me!  I 
only  wisht  I'd  knowed  it  sooner ! " 

"I  guess  hunger  is  some  teacher!"  nodded  John. 

"You  bet  you!  So,  then,  I  want  to  give  you  this 
here  thirty  thousand  dollars — now — to-night.  I'll 
write  you  off  such  a  check — if  you'll  pass  me  your 
promise  you  won't  give  none  of  it  to  Henny." 

"  Make  your  check  out  to  Minnie,  not  to  me — and  I 
promise  you  I'll  see  to  it  that  she  keeps  the  money  her- 
self and  don't  give  any  of  it  to  her  brother.  I  do  have 
some  influence  with  my  wife,  you  know,"  smiled  John. 

"Yes,  I  took  notice  to  it  a'ready."  The  doctor 
nodded  and  smiled  over  the  joke. 

"Hen  will  raise  an  awful  row,  you  know,  father, 
when  he  finds  out  about  this  thirty  thousand  dollars.'* 

"But  he  can't  make  Minnie  no  trouble  when  the 
money  is  hern  since  before  I  am  deceased  a'ready, 
kin  he?"  asked  the  doctor  anxiously. 

"He  cannot!'9  responded  John  with  relish.  He 
found  himself  anticipating  Henry's  chagrin  with 
considerable  satisfaction. 

"All  right,  then,  John — you  git  me  the  pen  and 
ink  and  that  there  spare  check  I  fetched  from  the 
bank  along — before  I  had  so  sick — it's  in  the  Bible 
layin' — at  the  Book  of  Job." 

"At  the  Book  of  Job!"  laughed  John.  "Well, 
well,  that's  a  co-in-ci-dence!" 

Herose,  opened  theBook,  andfound  the  blank  check. 
[124J 


CHAPTER  X 

DIFFICULT  as  it  was  to  hide  one's  personal 
affairs  in  a  place  like  Hessville,  the  financial 
perplexities  with  which  John  and  Minnie  had 
been   wrestling   were   unsuspected   by   the   general 
public.     It  was  known,  of  course,  that  a  mortgage 
rested  upon  their  renovated  home;  but  then  John  had 
" prospects,"  his  father  being  rich;  and  his  salary,  for 
the  simple  life  of  the  village,  being  large.     So  no  one 
dreamed  of  the  desperate  anxieties,  the  severe  depri- 
vations, which  the  young  couple  were  enduring. 

When  a  week  after  Doctor  Maus's  revelation  of  his 
"estate,"  his  physician  told  Minnie  and  John,  one 
morning,  that  the  old  man  would  die  before  night, 
Minnie  asked  John  to  notify  her  brother. 

But  Henry  did  not  show  himself  at  his  old  home 
until  he  came  with  his  wife  to  attend  his  father's 
funeral. 

Minnie  knew,  the  moment  she  saw  him,  that  he 
was  not  wholly  unaffected  by  his  father's  death. 
She  had  never  seen  him  so  subdued,  so  self-effacing, 
so  white  and  almost  scared.  This  was  evidently  an 
occasion  to  him  of  solemnity  and  awe,  if  not  of  some 
remorse.  Perhaps  it  was  shame  that  had  kept  him 
from  his  father's  bedside.  She  hoped  so. 

[125] 


It  was  at*  this  funeral  of  their  father-in-law  that 
Irene  and  John,  for  the  first  time  since  their  separa- 
tion on  that  fatal  circus  day,  came  together  once  more 
in  a  personal  relation. 

That  was  a  bitter  hour  to  Irene,  as  she  sat  with  the 
"mourners,"  during  the  service,  in  an  upper  chamber 
of  John  Wimmer's  home,  where  the  few  relatives  of 
the  deceased  were  gathered.  The  contrast  between 
the  husbaYid  at  her  side  and  the  man,  seated  across 
the  room,  whom  she  might  have  married,  was  so 
painfully  glaring  to-day.  Henny,  a  failure,  dis- 
credited, mistrusted;  John,  a  success,  respected,  in- 
fluential, holding  the  high-class  job  of  Principal  of 
the  Hessville  school,  with  "prospects"  from  the 
rich  estate  of  his  father — Irene  realized  more  poig- 
nantly than  ever  before  what  a  "mean  trick"  her 
own  senseless  perversity  had  played  upon  her. 

"I  sure  done  poor  fur  myself!"  she  thought,  with  a 
spiteful  glance  in  the  direction  of  her  husband. 

She  did  not  doubt  that  everyone  in  that  room — all 
the  Wimmers,  all  the  Laubs,  all  the  Mauses  for 
miles  'round — must  be  thinking,  as  she  was,  of  how 
poorly  she  had  "done,"  and  her  pride  winced 
miserably;  for  what  her  neighbours  thought  of  her 
meant  much  to  Mrs.  Henry  Maus. 

"If  I  was  married  to  John,  all  the  girls  would  have 
jealous!  But  Hen  Maus!  They  pity  me!  Me!  That 
could  have  had  my  pick ! " 

She  inspected  Minnie  curiously,  sitting  at  John's 
side  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  dressed  in  black, 

[1261 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

listening  tearfully  to  the  voice  of  the  preacher 
coming  to  them  from  the  hall  below.  She  saw  with 
a  start  that  Minnie  was  pregnant.  That  was  one 
thing  at  least  that  she  did  not  envy  her. 

"But  it  ain't  spoiled  her  complexion  any — she's 
awful  nice-complected ! "  she  observed. 

She  saw,  with  a  pang,  how  attentive  and  solicitous 
was  John's  bearing  toward  his  bereaved  wife. 
Henry's  marital  ways  were  so  "rough  and  common." 
As  Irene  was  by  nature  domineering  and  self-willed, 
it  was  a  constant  irritation  to  her  that  her  husband 
was  a  man  who  could  more  than  match  her  at  the 
game  of  bullying.  If  John  were  her  husband,  she 
could  derive  some  enjoyment  and  satisfaction  from 
the  practice  of  that  gentle  art. 

"I  always  thought  I'd  spend  my  married  life 
twisting  John  Wimmer  round  my  little  finger!  And 
now  I  ain't  even  got  the  chanct  to!" 

To  be  sure,  experience  had  taught  her  that  there 
was  a  limit  past  which  no  woman  could  go  in 
"fooling"  with  John. 

She  would  have  been  amazed  and  triumphant  had 
she  had  the  slightest  inkling  of  the  hot  tumult  in 
John's  heart  just  now  at  finding  himself  in  the  same 
room  with  her;  if  she  had  known  that  her  mere 
presence  so  near  to  him,  her  regal  step  across  the 
chamber,  her  rich,  warm  colouring  against  her 
sombre  black,  her  broad  shoulders  like  an  athletic 
boy's,  her  full  bosom  and  dainty  ankles,  were 
shaking  John  to  the  foundations  of  his  soul.  She  did 

[127] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

not  dream  that  his  pallor  was  due  to  aught  else  than 
the  sombreness  of  the  occasion,  his  sympathy  with 
the  sorrow  of  his  wife,  the  harrowing  words  of  the 
village  preacher  (who  if  he  failed  to  harrow,  would 
greatly  disappoint). 

On  his  side,  John  was  feeling  deeply  horrified  at 
the  intensity  of  the  emotion  which  the  sight  of  Irene 
called  up  in  him.  An  hour  before,  the  Madonna- 
like  softness  of,  Minnie's  pensive  face  enshrouded  in 
its  black  veil,  as  she  had  mournfully  taken  leave  of 
the  only  parent  she  had  ever  known,  had  called  forth 
all  the  tenderness  of  which  he  thought  he  was  capa- 
ble. And  now,  how  tame  and  colourless  seemed  her 
daintiness  in  the  presence  of  the  riotous  beauty,  the 
strong  personality,  of  the  woman  he  coveted!  What 
an  awful  thing  was  such  a  passion  as  this — which 
made  him,  against  his  will  disloyal  to  his  wife  who 
believed  in  him  so  absolutely;  who  was  soon  to  be 
a  mother! 

"We  humans  are  in  the  hands  of  powers  that  we 
ain't  got  any  more  control  over  than  we  have  over 
fire  and  wind!"  he  thought  in  wonder  and  conster- 
nation. 

In  the  fear  of  betraying  to  Minnie  the  state  of  his 
heart  toward  another  woman,  his  manner  to  Irene 
stiffened  and  hardened  in  a  way  completely  to  mis- 
lead that  not  very  astute  young  woman,  who  dis- 
guised her  chagrin  under  an  air  of  hauteur. 

But  Mannie  saw  none  of  this  by-play.  The 
officiating  minister's  highly  successful  efforts  at 

[128] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

harrowing  the  feelings  of  the  bereaved  were  followed 
by  the  yet  more  sob-provoking  number  on  the  pro- 
gramme— the  solo  by  the  village  soprano: 

"Father's  gone  but  not  forgotten, 

Never  will  his  memory  fade. 
Sweetest  thoughts  will  ever  linger 
'Round  the  grave  where  he  is  laid. 

"We  loved  him,  yes,  we  loved  him, 

But  the  Saviour  loved  him  more, 
So  the  angels  sweetly  called  him 
To  that  bright  and  happy  shore. 

"It  was  hard  to  part  with  Father, 

Oh,  so  sad  to  see  him  die. 
But  then  we'll  try  and  meet  him 
Some  sweet  day  by  and  by." 

The  funeral  took  place  on  Monday,  and  it  was  not 
until  the  following  Saturday  that  the  Hessville 
Weekly  startled  the  village  with  the  story  of  the  great 
legacy  of  thirty  thousand  dollars  left  to  Doctor  Maus 
by  a  grateful  patient  who,  after  Doctor  Maus  had 
cured  him  by  the  power  of  prayer,  of  cancer,  had 
"up  and  died  of  consumption." 

And  it  was  not  until  the  big  headlines  of  the  Hess- 
ville Weekly  struck  Henry  Maus  in  the  eyes  when  on 
Saturday  morning  he  picked  up  the  newspaper  from 
the  counter  in  his  father-in-law's  store,  that  he 
learned  of  this  wonderful  fortune  that  had  come  to 
his  father. 

[129J 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

In  wild  excitement  he  rushed  upstairs  to  Irene. 

"Look-a-hereJ  My  pop!  Thirty  thousand  dol- 
lars yet!  My  pop!  And  he  never  peeped  about 
it  to  nobody!" 

But  Irene,  after  the  first  shock  of  amazement,  was 
suspicious.  "How  do  you  know  your  pop  didn't 
never  peep  to  nobody  about  it?  Mebby  Minnie 
knowed  all  about  it.  Mebby  it  was  even  more'n 
thirty  thousand  dollars  that  was  inherited  to  him,  and 
mebby  Minnie  she  worked  him  to  give  some  to  her 
before  he  died  a'ready.  You  never  went  near  him 
when  he  had  sick — you  don't  know  what  Minnie 
mebby  done!" 

"You  don't  know  our  Minnie.  She's  too  damned 
good  to  near  do  a  thing  like  that — cheat  me  out  of  my 
share!  Gosh,  no!  Say !"  he  cried,  quite  wild  with  de- 
light, as  he  hurriedly  began  to  lace  up  his  shoes  to  go 
to  see  his  sister,  "mebby  I  won't  have  my  fling  fur 
oncet!  To  think  of  the  old  man  keepin'  a  secret  like 
that  fur  two  whole  months!  I'll  take  a  trip  to  New 
York!"  he  fairly  yelled. 

"Fifteen  thousand  will  be  yours,"  said  Irene,  her 
eyes  sparkling.  "Say!"  she  cried,  "leave  us  git  a 
Ford!" 

"Och,  no,  a  Pierce  Arrow  or  mebby  a  Simplex  and 
sich  a  chauffeur  fur  you!"  Henry  mocked  her. 
"You  think  I'm  a-goin'  to  spend  it  all  on  you,  I  guess! 
Well,  look-a-here,  this  here  fifteen  thousand  is  mine, 
and  I'm  a-goin'  to  spend  it  on  myself!  See?" 

"What  I  can  see,  Hen  Maus,  is  my  pop  makin'  you 
[130] 


pay  your  board  or  get  out  of  here!"  retorted  Irene, 
furious  at  her  impotence  to  dominate  her  own  law- 
ful husband  either  through  threats  or  favours. 

"I  don't  care  how  soon  I  get  out  of  Hesswille,  oncet 
I  got  that  there  fifteen  thousand!"  exclaimed  Henry. 
"New  York  fur  mine!" 

"A  pretty  lookin'  thing  you'd  be  in  New  York! 
You're  too  ignorant!  They'd  laugh  at  you  in  New 
York!" 

"They  won't  laugh  at  a  fellah  that's  got  fifteen 
thousand  dollars — in  New  York  or  anywheres  else!" 
retorted  Henry. 

"And  when  it's  all  spent  on  yourself.,  then  you'll 
come  crawlin'  back  here  to  loaf  on  us  again!  Huh!" 

"I  ain't  likely  ever  to  come  back!"  said  Henry 
darkly. 

"  When  you  come  back,  you'll  have  the  pleasure  of 
goin'  up  to  your  brother-in-law's  to  beg  fur  board — 
you  certainly  won't  get  it  here!"  declared  Irene. 
"And  I  see  John  Wimmer  boardin*  a  lazy  loafer  at 
his  expense!  He'd  sooner  duck  you  in  his  rain 
bar'l!" 

"Aw,  shut  your  face!"  was  Henry's  loving  re- 
joinder as  he  flung  himself  out  of  the  room  and  out  of 
the  house. 

A  moment  later  he  was  running  up  the  street 
(finding  it  impossible  to  restrain  his  pace  to  a  walk) 
to  get  possession,  without  a  moment's  loss  of  time,  of 
his  fifteen  thousand  dollars.  Yet  even  at  a  running 
pace  he  had  time  to  wonder  why  he  had  not  learned 

[131] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

of  this  great  good  fortune  before  the  Hessville  Weekly 
had  been  informed  of  it.  How  long  had  his  sister  been 
keeping  this  news  from  him?  He  had  had  a  right 
to  know  of  it  as  soon  as  she  knew.  Why  had  she  not 
told  him?  Was  she  resenting  his  refusal  to  aid  them 
when  they  were  in  need?  Ever  since  his  father's 
death  Henry  had  been  unable  to  rid  himself  of  the 
uncomfortable  memory  of  that  night  when  he  had 
denied  and  cursed  his  starving  old  father. 

When,  without  knocking,  he  opened  the  front 
door  and  walked  into  his  old  home,  he  was  impressed 
almost  to  a  state  of  awe  by  the  grandeur  of  the  im- 
provements John  and  Minnie  had  made.  The 
newly  painted  exterior  of  the  house,  together  with 
the  new  porch  and  fence,  had  transformed  the  place 
from  the  worst  to  the  best  home  in  the  village;  but 
the  interior  was,  Henry  thought,  really  above  the 
station  even  of  a  schoolmaster.  Brussels  carpet, 
plush  chairs,  sofa  cushions,  pictures,  a  victrola!  It 
was  gorgeous.  Minnie  must  surely  already  have 
possession  of  her  half  of  the  fortune.  Then  why 
didn't  he  have  his  half? 

He  passed  from  the  parlour  into  the  dining  room. 

"This  is  going  some!  A  reg'lar  dining  room  suit 
yet!  Gosh!"  thought  Henry,  taking  in  the  shining 
yellow  sideboard  with  chairs  and  table  all  matching. 
"It  sure  is  swell!  I  never  conceited  I'd  see  this  old 
shanty  lookin'  like  this  here!" 

On  the  window  sill  were  pots  of  artificial  flowers 
growing  out  of  artificial  earth.  On  the  wall  were  two 

[132] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

companion  pictures  of  a  style  of  art  considered  by 
Hessville  appropriate  for  a  dining  room — calculated, 
perhaps,  to  promote  and  encourage  appetite;  one  of 
them,  a  string  of  highly  coloured  fish,  their  eyes  bulg- 
ing in  dying  agony;  the  other,  a  bunch  of  limp,  dead 
game. 

Henry  went  on  out  to  the  kitchen.  New  linoleum 
on  the  floor,  a  bright  new  stove,  new  modern  plumb- 
ing! 

"Gosh,  you're  swell  up  here!"  he  breathlessly 
greeted  Minnie  who  was  making  pie  for  dinner. 

She  turned  white  at  his  sudden  appearing  and  sank 
into  a  chair.  "John  will  be  in  soon,  Henry,"  she 
said  nervously.  "He's  up  at  the  school  putting 
some  exercises  on  the  blackboard  for  Monday." 

She  wished,  in  her  physical  weakness,  that  her 
husband  were  at  home  to  shield  her  in  this  crisis. 

"I  kin  worry  through  without  John!  Why  didn't 
you  tell  me  before  of  our  comin'  into  all  this  here 
money?"  he  demanded  chokingly;  he  could  scarcely 
speak  for  excitement.  "Why  do  you  leave  me  learn 
all  about  it  in  the  Hesswille  Weekly?  I  see  how  you 
spent  enough  of  it  a'ready!  Why  didn't  you  leave 
me  know?" 

"There  was  nothing  to  tell  you." 

"Nothin'  to  tell  me!  Nothin'!  As  if  fifteen 
thousand  dollars  fell  into  my  hand  every  day  in  the 
week!  What  do  you  mean — nothin'  to  tell  me?" 

"Father  didn't  leave  you  any  money,"  answered 
Minnie,  white  but  resolute. 

[1331 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Ha!  You  mean  he  made  a  will  and  left  you  all? 
Well,  I'll  break  it  and  git  my  half — see?"  cried 
Henry.  "You  don't  think  you  kin  come  a  game  like 
that  on  me,  do  you?" 

"Father  didn't  make  a  will  because  he  knew  you'd 
break  his  will.  He  gave  all  he  had  to  me  before  he 
died." 

Henry  stared  at  her  with  bulging  eyes.  "What 
fur?  Why  did  he?  You  and  John  Wimmer  in- 
floonced  him !  Yous  cheated  me !  I'll  have  the  law  on 
you!  Yous  can't  keep  my  half  of  them  thirty  thou- 
sand !  Don ' t  you  think  it !  I  '11  have  yous  arrested ! ' ' 

"There  ain't  a  thing  you  can  do,  Henny.  Father 
didn't  want  for  you  to  have  any  of  this  money;  so  he 
made  it  that  you  couldn't  get  any.  Before  he  died 
already,  he  gave  it  all  over  to  me.  And  I  put  it  in 
bank  in  my  own  name." 

"So!"  gasped  Henry,  his  face  apoplectic.  "So 
you'd  cheat  your  own  brother  out  of  his  rights!  You 
that  wants  to  be  so  good  yet !  Your  own  brother ! " 

"When  did  you  ever  act  like  a  brother  to  me, 
Henry?  Or  like  a  son  to  father?" 

"Minnie  Maus!  You  ain't  a-goin*  to  try  to  keep 
my  half  away  from  me,  are  you?" 

"Why  should  I  wish  you  to  have  that  money 
sooner 'n  John  and  I?  You  never  did  a  thing  for  me 
in  all  your  life.  I  worked  for  you  for  years  and  years 
without  ever  a  thank  you  from  you.  Why  shouldn't 
I  sooner  give  that  money  to  John  that's  good  to  me 
and  loves  me?" 

[134] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Loves  you!     Much  he  loves  you !    Ha!" 

"/  know  how  much!" 

"No,  you  don't  neither!  Say,  Minnie  Maus,  do 
you  think  Pop  would  have  wanted  his  cash  give  to  an 
outsider,  preferable  to  his  own  son?  Heh?" 

"John  treated  him  much  more  as  a  son  should 
than  ever  you  did,  Henny.  You  never  came  near 
him  when  he  was  dying!"  said  Minnie  bitterly. 
"When  he  went  to  you  hungry — starving! — you 
cursed  him! — and  drove  him  off!  His  last  dying  re- 
quest was  that  I  should  never  give  you  any  of  this 
money." 

Henry,  as  white  as  Minnie  now,  sank  into  a  chair. 
"Minnie!"  he  gasped,  "ain't  you  a-goin  to  gimme 
any  of  that  there  money?" 

"I'd  sooner  give  it  to  any  stranger  on  the  street 
than  to  you.  Any  stranger  would  have  helped  us 
when  we  were  starving — but  you  would  not!" 

"It's  John  Wimmer  has  made  you  so  changed! 
You  used  to  be  dead  easy  before  he  got  you  so  spoilt 
up !  Say !  I  kin  prove  it  to  you  that  John  Wimmer's 
stuck  on  my  wife  and  that  he  never  was  stuck  on  you! 
I  kin  prove  it  by " 

Minnie  laughed  involuntarily — almost  merrily. 
"How  silly  you  are,  Henny,  to  think  you  could  make 
me  believe  such  foolishness!" 

Scarcely  had  she  spoken  when  suddenly  she  felt 
John's  arm  about  her  pressing  her  close.  He  had 
come  in  behind  her  at  the  kitchen  door  just  in  time 
to  hear  Henry's  assertion  and  her  confident  denial  of  it. 

[135J 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Her  faith  in  his  devotion  stirred  in  John  an  emotion 
compounded  strangely  of  tenderness,  remorse,  and 
satisfaction.  Minnie  seemed  to  him  in  that  moment 
a  rod  and  a  staff  to  comfort  him;  a  very  great  com- 
pensation for  the  loss  of  a  more  supreme  happiness. 

His  sudden  appearing  seemed  to  act  upon  Henry's 
temper  like  a  torch  to  powder;  to  see  this  man,  whom 
he  hated  and  envied,  living  complacently  in  the  se- 
cure possession  of  wealth  which  had  belonged  to  his 
father;  which,  by  all  the  laws  of  God  and  man,  ought 
to  be  in  his  hands — was  too  much  for  his  self-re- 
straint. He  wanted  to  fly  at  him  like  a  mad  bull, 
stamp  upon  him,  crush  him  to  death — and  his  sense  of 
impotence  before  John's  superior  strength  fairly 
maddened  him.  Only  with  words  could  he  lash  at 
his  enemy  and  these  he  used  in  wild  and  reckless  fury, 
cursing,  abusing,  threatening — ending  his  tirade  in  a 
promise  of  dire  vengeance. 

"Don't  yous  two  thief s  think  I  won't  git  back  at 
yous!  I'll  burn  your  fancy  house  down  over  your 
heads! — your  house  that's  rightly  my  house,  fur  my 
pop  owned  it  and  it  was  his  money  that  repaired  it! 
Yous  listen  on  me! — your  stylish  diggm's  is  goin*  up 
in  smoke  before  yous  are  many  days  older!" 

"Seeing  that  it's  insured,  furniture  and  all,  and 
that  we'd  like  better  to  build  new,  go  ahead,  Hen," 
said  John. 

"Aw,  shut  up,  you "  He  used  a  ribald  ex- 
pression which  Minnie,  fortunately,  did  not  under- 
stand, but  which  made  John  turn  white. 

[136] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Here,  here!  None  of  that!  Not  on  my  prem- 
ises!" he  commanded  peremptorily. 

"Your  premises!"  Henry  almost  screamed. 
"Yourn!  Callin'  yourn  what  belonged  to  my  pop! 
You- 

He  threw  out  his  clenched  fist  to  strike  John  in 
the  face — but  it  was  caught  in  mid-air  and  in  an  in- 
stant Henry  found  his  two  hands  pinioned  behind 
him. 

No  sooner  did  he  know  himself  to  be  helpless  in 
John's  power  than  all  his  bravado  collapsed  and  he 
whimpered  with  fear. 

"You  lee'  me  be!  Say!  You  lee'  me  go  and  I 
won't  do  you  nothin'.  I  pass  my  promise  I  won't. 
Minnie!  You  ain't  standin'  there  and  leavin'  him 
use  me  rough,  are  you?" 

Minnie  turned  anxious,  pleading  eyes  to  John.  His 
free  hand  closed  over  hers  reassuringly.  "Go  in  the 
other  room,  Minnie." 

"Don't  you  go!"  bawled  Henry.  "Don't  you  go 
and  lee'  me  here  alone  with  him!" 

But  at  the  touch  of  John's  hand,  the  anxious  plead- 
ing of  Minnie's  eyes  changed  instantly  to  a  look  of 
confidence  in  his  fairness,  his  mercy.  She  did  not 
want  her  brother  hurt,  said  her  eyes,  but  it  was  not 
necessary  to  plead  for  him — John  would  do  what  was 
right.  Without  a  word  she  turned  away  and  left  the 
room. 

"March!"  said  John  to  his  brother-in-law — and 
still  holding  the  hands  of  his  captive  pinioned  behind 

[1371 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

him,  he  turned  him  right-about-face  to  the  kitchen 
door  and  forced  him  out  to  the  gate. 

"If  you  ever  make  yourself  worth  associating  with, 
Hen,  you  can  come  back.  But  not  till  then.  Do 
you  understand?  Not  till  then.  If  I  find  you  round 
here  bothering  Minnie,  you  won't  have  a  pleasant 
call!  Minnie  was  bothered  with  you  all  her  life — 
now  I'm  going  to  see  to  it  that  she  has  some  peace. 
So  you  keep  yourself  away." 

He  relaxed  his  hold;  and  Henry  lost  no  time  in 
getting  out  of  his  reach. 

"You "  He  repeated  his  ribald  epithet.  'Til 

have  my  spite  out  on  you  and  Minnie  if  I  hang  fur 
it!" 

As  John  walked  slowly  back  into  the  kitchen,  from 
which  came  pleasantly  the  odour  of  freshly  baked 
pies,  he  reflected  that  he  could  not  safely  regard 
Henry's  threats  as  idle.  The  fellow  would  certainly 
try  to  avenge  himself.  To  minds  like  Henry's, 
vengeance  for  grievances  was  a  sacred  duty  which 
only  a  weakling  would  forego. 

"I  got  to  keep  very  careful  watch — especially  till 
the  baby's  born  already.  He  might  give  Minnie  a 
bad  fright." 

But  Minnie,  in  her  faith  in  John's  power  to  pro- 
tect her,  felt  entirely  secure — though  she  knew  even 
more  certainly  than  did  John  that  Henry  would  never 
let  such  a  wrong  as  the  loss  of  a  fortune  go  unavenged 
if  he  could  help  it. 

[138] 


CHAPTER  XI 

I  NEVER  thought  to  be  living  on  money  earned  by 
some  other  person's  hard  work,"  said  John  one 
evening  as  he  and  Minnie  sat  chatting  together 
in  their  cozy  sitting  room;  they  had  just  been 
reckoning  up  the  very  reassuring  bank  account  left 
over  after  having  paid  all  their  debts ;  and  it  must  be 
admitted  that  a  bank  balance,  even  when  belonging 
to  idealists,  does  go  a  great  way  toward  making  a 
happy  home.  "We're  awfully  well-fixed.  But  I'd 
sooner  it  was  through  work  I  did  than  through 
unearned  increments.  I'll  explain  you  what  they 
are — unearned  increments " 

"I  know,"  smiled  Minnie.  "It's  rents;  or  interest 
on  money  invested;  money  that  comes  to  you  that 
you  didn't  work  for." 

"You're  awfully  intelligent  for  a  girl,"  said  John 
approvingly.  "I  hope  the  boy  takes  after  you!" 

"I'd  sooner  he'd  take  after  you!" 

"If  only  he  don't  fool  us  and  take  the  worst  from 
both  of  us!" 

"You  haven't  any  'worst'  about  you!"  said 
Minnie. 

"Same  to  you!"  John  returned  the  compliment 
with  a  wave  of  his  hand  toward  her. 

[139] 


"Mebby  the  boy  will  fool  us  both  by  turning  out  a 
girl!"  smiled  Minnie. 

"Only  so  it's  a  baby,  I'll  be  more'n  satisfied.  I  can 
hardly  wait  till  he  comes  a'ready,  Minnie! — if  it 
wasn't  for  the  suffering  for  you!" 

"I,  too,  can  har'ly  wait!"  she  said,  ecstatically 
hugging  the  baby  dress  on  which  she  was  sewing. 
"I'm  afraid  I'll  kill  her  with  love!" 

"If  I  see  you  spoilin'  him  up  with  indulgence  and 
humouring,  the  way  you  spoiled  Hen,  I'll  have  to  be 
awfully  firm  with  him  myself." 

"Your  children  won't  be  spoiled,  John.  No 
danger." 

"About  those  unearned  increments,"  John  heavily 
reverted  to  the  troublesome  doubt  in  his  mind. 
"You  see,  Minnie,  all  wealth,  every  dollar,  stands  for 
somebody9 s  labour.  There  couldn't  be  wealth  without 
labour  to  produce  it.  So  there's  something  awfully 
wrong  somewheres  when  we  have  the  use  of  fifteen 
hundred  dollars  a  year  that  some  other  ones  worked 
to  earn." 

"But  it's  awful  comfortable.  Never  before  in  my 
life  did  I  have  a  penny  I  didn't  work  for.  I  like  it!" 

John  laughed.  "Yes,  it  sure  is  comfortable!"  he 
said  as  he  stretched  his  long  legs  out  from  the  big 
Morris  chair  in  which  he  lounged.  "But,"  he  added 
seriously,  "it  ain't  ethical." 

"Look  at  the  big  incomes  spent  by  what  they  call 
the  idle  rich  in  Philadelphia,"  said  Minnie,  "all 
earned  by  other  ones  than  those  that  spend  them." 

[140] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"If  I  was  more  educated,  I  could  mebby  work  out 
such  questions,"  said  John.  "  I'd  have  liked  to  go  to 
college.  But  it  was  some  fight  to  get  father  to  leave 
me  go  just  to  Kutztown  Normal.  And  I  didn't  learn 
such  an  awful  lot  there,  either.  I  learnt  more  from 
teaching  than  ever  I  learned  from  going  to  school. 
Seneca  says,"  he  solemnly  quoted,  '"Men,  while 
teaching,  learn." 

"Mebby  that's  what  that  poet,  Robert  Browning, 
meant  in  that  poem  you  read  me  one  evening — you 
mind? — called  'Christmas  Eve':  "Tis  the  taught  al- 
ready that  profits  by  teaching."' 

"Mebby,"  acquiesced  John.  "And  then  again 
mebby  not.  It's  hard  to  tell  sometimes  what  that 
poet  was  driving  at!  I  sometimes  think  he  didn't 
rightly  know  himself.  I  want  our  children,  Minnie, 
to  have  all  the  education  they'll  take,  so's  they'll  be 
fitted  to  give  their  best  service  to  the  world  and  not 
be  handicapped  like  I  am." 

"We'll  bring  them  up  to  be  such  Crusaders  or 
knights,  you  mind  of  in  the  history  books,  John,  to 
fight  against  things  that  ain't  just  or  right  in  the 
world.  Ain't?" 

"We  will,"  nodded  John  gravely.  "I'm  going  to 
teach  them  they're  here  for  two  things — to  be  of  use 
and  to  have  a  good  time.  You,  Minnie,  missed  both 
those  things.  You  never  had  a  good  time — 

"I'm  making  it  up  now,  though!"  said  Minnie 
radiantly. 

John  bent  to  kiss  her  lips  before  going  on  with  his 
[1411 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

harangue.  "And  you  never  were  useful  except  the 
year  you  taught  in  my  school.  All  your  other  time 
you  wasted  on  two  idle  men.  It's  a  big  mistake  to 
think  you're  being  useful  and  unselfish  when  you're 
only  making  other  people  selfish.  So  our  children 
are  going  to  be  taught  to  be  more  sensible  than  their 
mother  has  been,"  he  concluded,  patting  her  shoulder. 
"Say,  Minnie,  didn't  it  ever  bother  you  any  that  you 
gave  up  your  Mennonite  faith?" 

"No,"  she  shook  her  head.  "Our  love  is  my  re- 
ligion and  always  will  be." 

She  said  it  with  a  simple  sincerity  that  humiliated 
John  almost  more  than  it  pleased  him,  so  unworthy 
of  her  devotion  did  he  feel  himself  to  be.  For  though 
Minnie  grew  dearer  and  more  necessary  to  him  every 
day  of  their  life  together,  he  knew,  to  his  sorrow,  that 
his  passion  for  Irene  grew  in  the  same  proportion. 
This  evening,  for  instance,  in  this  pleasant  domestic 
intimacy  of  their  hour  alone  together,  the  traitorous 
thought  obtruded  itself  upon  his  shrinking  imagi- 
nation, "If  it  was  Irene,  instead  of  Minnie,  that  was 
sitting  here  with  me — the  mistress  of  my  home — 
about  to  be  the  mother  of  my  child " 

He  closed  his  eyes  to  steady  his  beating  brain  be- 
fore the  fancied  picture.  Irene  with  her  rich,  warm 
bloom,  her  splendid  physique,  that  proud  carriage  of 
her  head — every  movement  of  her  body  a  lure,  every 
tone  of  her  voice  a  thrill! — if  it  were  she  that  were 
here  at  his  side — his  own! 

It  chanced  that  at  that  very  hour  the  object  of 
[1421 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

all  this  romantic  idealizing  was,  like  Minnie,  enjoy- 
ing an  evening  of  closest  domestic  intimacy  with  her 
husband. 

"Look  at  here! — and  here! — and  here!"  Henry 
was  violently  demanding  as  he  displayed  to  his  coldly 
indifferent  and  contemptuous  spouse  his  undarned 
socks  and  buttonless  underwear,  "You  lazy,  good-for- 
nothing  piece,  can't  you  keep  your  Mister's  clo'es 
mended  up?" 

"Mend  'em  yourself — you're  got  more  time  than  I 
got.  What  do  you  ever  do?" 

"If  it  ain't  a  wife's  place  to  sew  on  her  Mister's 
buttons  yet  and  keep  his  socks  darned,  what's  she 
fur  anyhow?" 

"Fur?  Well,  if  I  wasn't  fur  somepin  better 'n 
keepin'  you  mended  up,  I  wouldn't  be  fur  much, 
that's  sure!  I'll  see  myself  settin'  round  sewin'  fur 
you  whiles  you  loaf!  Huh!" 

"Well,  all  I  got  to  say,  John  Wimmer's  lucky  he 
didn't  git  you!  Minnie'll  anyhow  keep  his  clo'es 
good  mended  and  his  house  clean.  Look  at  this  here 
bedroom!  You  never  redd  up!" 

"Redd  up  yourself  if  you  like  things  redd  up!" 

"Is  it  your  Mister's  place  to  redd  up  the  room?" 

"What  is  the  Mister's  work,  Hen,  in  your  opinion? 
I  have  curiosity  to  know  what  you  think  it  is — ha!" 
Irene  laughed  derisively  from  where  she  lounged  in  a 
kimono  on  the  foot  of  the  bed,  munching  an  apple  and 
leafing  the  pages  of  a  fashion  magazine. 

"I  congratulate  John  Wimmer  that  he  didn't  git 
[1433 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

you ! "    Henry  repeated  tauntingly.    "  He  done  grand 
fur  hisself  when  he  jilted  you!" 

This  was  going  too  far.  Irene,  rising,  walked 
regally  to  the  door,  and  from  that  safe  vantage 
hurled  at  Henry's  head  first  her  apple  core  then  her 
magazine;  and  before  he  could  recover  to  dash  after 
her,  she  had  banged  the  door  shut  and  fled  to  the 
safe  shelter  of  her  father's  presence. 

"Pop!"  she  exclaimed,  "it  don't  make  me  nothing 
how  soon  you  tell  Hen  to  get  out!" 

"That  suits  me!"  her  father  eagerly  returned. 
"Then  I  tell  him  right  aways!  It's  only  because  you 
wouldn't  have  it  so  that  I  didn't  tell  him  long  ago 
a'ready  to  get  out!" 

As  Mr.  Laub  quickly  determined  to  act  before  his 
spoiled  and  petted  only  child  had  time  to  change 
her  mind,  Henry  suddenly  found  himself,  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  without  shelter  or  food,  and  forced, 
therefore,  to  work — or  starve  and  freeze.  Under 
these  circumstances  he  shook  the  dust  of  Hessville 
from  his  feet  and  departed,  unlamented,  for  the  city. 

What  sort  of  employment  he  succeeded  in  securing 
there  Hessville  did  not  hear.  John  Wimmer  fer- 
vently hoped  it  would  be  permanent;  for  so  long  as 
his  resentful  brother-in-law  remained  in  the  village, 
he  could  know  no  peace  in  leaving  Minnie  alone  for  an 
hour.  It  would  be  so  easy  for  Henry  to  wreck  his 
vengeance  upon  her  in  her  present  condition.  John 
felt  an  immense  relief,  therefore,  at  the  news  of 
Henry's  departure. 

[144] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

But  he  spent  hours  in  reflecting  pensively  upon  the 
hurt  which  Irene's  proud  spirit  must  have  suffered  iu 
such  a  wretchedly  mistaken  marriage.  If  he  were  free, 
how  he  would  fly  to  her  side  to  comfort  that  hurt  and 
help  her  to  woo  back  her  self-respect !  It  was  bitterly 
hard  to  have  to  remain  aloof,  silent,  inexpressive, 
when  all  his  soul  hungered  and  thirsted  to  go  to  her. 

Domestic  alienations  among  the  Pennsylvania 
Dutch  being  so  rare  as  to  be  counted  a  deep  dis- 
grace, Irene  found  her  situation — neither  wife  nor 
widow — most  unenviable;  so  that  when  Henry,  after 
two  months  of  silence,  wrote  and  told  her  he  had 
"a  good-paying  job,"  and  could  keep  her  in  style  if 
she  would  join  him,  she  did  not  hesitate  a  moment  to 
respond,  in  spite  of  her  parents'  protest  that  she 
ought  to  demand  some  details  as  to  this  "good-pay- 
ing job"  before  committing  herself. 

"It's  easy  enough  to  come  back  if  I  find  he's  lyin'," 
was  her  reply.  "I  have  sick  of  Hesswille  anyhow. 
It  ain't  so  slow  in  the  city.  Yous  needn't  plague  me 
not  to  go,  fur  I'm  goin*.  'Nuff  said!" 

John's  first  feeling  upon  learning  that  Irene  was 
going  to  join  Henry  was  one  of  sheer  amazement.  To 
have  escaped  from  such  a  degrading  union  and  then 
voluntarily  to  return  to  it! — for  an  instant  his  ideal  of 
her  was  dashed.  But  only  for  an  instant. 

"That  sacred  she  holds  her  wifely  dooty!"  was  his 
second  thought,  "even  to  a  skunk  like  Hen  Maus! 
What  a  wife  she'd  have  made  to  a  husband  that  was 
worthy  of  her!" 

[145] 


For  the  hundredth  time  he  tortured  his  soul  to 
understand  what  had  ever  brought  her  to  give  her- 
self, in  the  first  place,  to  such  as  Henry. 

"A  queen  of  a  woman  stooping  to  a  dog!"  he 
marvelled. 

He  wished  that  he  might,  with  safety,  go  to  her  and 
persuade  her  that  it  was  not  her  duty  to  cleave  to  a 
bad  mate;  that,  on  the  contrary,  she  owed  it  to  herself, 
to  her  parents  and  her  friends,  to  break  away  from  a 
union  which  must  drag  her  down  to  the  level  of  the 
wretch  to  whom  she  was  bound. 

But  John  could  not  trust  himself  to  go  near  her. 
Therein  lay  danger  to  himself,  to  Minnie,  to  their  un- 
born child. 

For  a  while  after  Irene  was  gone  he  was  wretchedly 
unhappy;  for  even  an  occasional  chance  glimpse  of 
her  on  the  street  had  been  something  to  hope  for;  to 
delight  in. 

It  was  well  for  the  peace  of  his  home  and  for  his 
wife's  happy  faith  in  his  supreme  love  for  herself  that 
his  keen  interest  in  the  baby  that  was  coming,  as  well 
as  Minnie's  precarious  state  of  health  forced  his 
mind  out  of  the  groove  of  brooding  into  which  it 
seemed  prone  to  sink. 

The  melancholy  fact  was  that  Irene's  absence  was 
far  more  calculated  to  keep  alive  the  flame  of  his 
passion  than  the  daily  sight  of  her  would  have  done. 
Marriage  itself  would  have  worked  a  speedy  cure;  but 
her  departure,  leaving  his  imagination  to  play  un- 
challenged with  his  infatuation,  kept  his  idealized 

[146] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

image  of  the  maiden  not  only  alive,  but  increasingly 
dazzling  and  beautiful.  With  what  might  seem 
strange  perversity,  he  grew  into  a  secret  habit,  during 
the  few  years  that  passed  before  he  ever  again  be- 
held Irene,  of  transforming  her  most  glaring  faults  of 
character  and  Minnie's  finest,  rarest  qualities  into 
contrasts  highly  favourable  to  the  imaginary  absent 
one.  When  Minnie  was  sweetly  yielding,  he  saw 
Irene  strong  and  firm;  when  Minnie  was  frail  from 
child-bearing,  though  he  cherished  her  chivalrously 
and  tenderly,  yet  he  beheld  Irene  a  robust  mother 
of  stalwart  sons;  when  Minnie  was  patiently  sym- 
pathetic with  her  children's  faults  and  weaknesses,  he 
saw  Irene  a  wiser  mother,  honoured  and  worshipped, 
rather  than  companioned,  by  her  children. 

And  yet,  he  never  felt  critical  toward  his  wife.  He 
would  not  have  had  her  different.  She  would  not 
have  been  Minnie  if  she  had  been  big  and  robust  and 
regal  and  strong.  No,  he  liked  her  as  she  was. 

"There's  one  thing  about  you,  Minnie,"  he  once 
told  her;  "if  you're  a  little  weak  sometimes  with  them 
you  love — me  and  the  children — you  have  an  awfully 
strong  will  over  yourself.  Your  will  and  your  con- 
science sure  do  drive  you  where  they  want  you  to  go ! " 

He  was  sure  that  a  more  comfortable  wife  than 
Minnie  no  man  ever  possessed  (Being  a  Pennsyl- 
vania Dutchman  he  of  course  thought  of  his  mate  as 
a  "  possession  ") .  Her  only  shortcoming  was  that  she 
was  not  the  love  of  his  impassioned  imagination,  his 
burning  heart. 

[147] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Minnie,  through  it  all,  remained  wholly  unsuspicious. 
John's  true  state  of  mind — wedded  to  one  woman  and 
loving  and  dreaming  of  another — would  have  been 
unthinkable  to  her  utter  sincerity  and  loyalty. 

"Ain't,  we  are  happy  together,  John!"  she  would 
say  sometimes  in  the  fulness  of  her  heart,  when  her 
cup  seemed  overflowing — perhaps  upon  discovering 
that  a  new  baby  was  coming  to  them;  or  in  the  thrill 
they  both  always  experienced  when  finding  some  new 
and  vital  point  of  mental  or  spiritual  contact;  for  they 
alone,  in  all  the  village,  tried  not  to  stagnate  among 
the  practical  and  material  cares  of  their  joint  life. 
They  read;  they  took  little  jaunts  to  town  to  hear 
lectures  or  to  hear  an  occasional  play;  they  bought 
first-class  records  for  their  victrola;  they  subscribed 
for  several  good  magazines.  Hessville  considered 
them  almost  too  superior  to  be  comfortable. 

It  was  when  the  third  baby  was  expected  that  there 
occurred  a  dramatic  variation  in  the  peaceful  mo- 
notony of  their  lives.  John  had  gone  to  Lancaster 
for  a  week  to  attend  "Teachers'  Institute."  As 
Minnie's  "time"  was  near,  he  did  not  like  to  leave 
her,  but  "Teachers'  Institute"  was  a  momentous 
occasion  to  all  "Educators"  of  the  county  and  could 
not  be  slighted  except  in  case  of  absolute  necessity. 

"I  wish  you  could  go  with,"  he  told  Minnie.  "It 
would  be  so  much  more  interesting  to  me  if  I  could 
talk  over  the'  speeches  with  you  afterward.  Only 
once  in  the  six  years  we  are  married  together  did  you 
go  with.  Babies  do  sure  tie  a  woman  down.  Ain't?" 

[148] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OE  HESSVILLE 

"But  they're  more  than  worth  all  they  cost!" 
laughed  Minnie.  "To  be  sure  I  wish,  too,  I  could 
go  with.  That  one  time  I  did  go  along,  I  liked  it 
near  as  well  as  a  theatre  yet!  Some  of  the  speakers 
were  grand!  I  think,  John,  if  you  could  make  a 
speech  and  give  your  ideas  of  teaching  and  managing 
a  school,  it  would  be  useful  to  the  audience  to  hear  it, 
for  you  have  better  thoughts  than  some  that  speak." 

"I  know  I  have.  Some  of  the  speakers  say  such 
awfully  dumb  things! — things  that  every  teacher  of 
any  experience  in  the  audience  knows  ain't  so.  Some- 
times I  want  to  stand  up  and  holler,  'You're  either 
a  nut  or  either  a  damned  liar!'  Or  to  some  I  would 
like  to  yell,  'Quit  killin'  time — ours  and  yours — and 
say  something!'  But  I'm  not  educated  enough  to 
speak  in  public.  And  I'm  not  a  Prominent  Educator 
enough  to  be  asked  to  tell  my  opinions  on  Education." 

"It  will  be  a  long  week,"  sighed  Minnie,  "with  you 
away.  But  I'm  glad  you're  having  the  change. 
And  your  letters  will  be  my  change  and  treat.  If  you 
didn't  go  off,  I  wouldn't  get  letters." 

"  It  always  clears  up  my  own  ideas,  Minnie,  to  talk 
them  out  to  you;  so  I'll  miss  not  having  you  along. 
And  not  seeing  the  kiddies  for  a  whole  week !  Gosh ! " 

"Yes,  ain't!     It  draws  my  breath!" 

John  left  on  Monday  morning,  after  having  first 
arranged  with  one  of  his  pupils,  Eva  Hertzogg,  a 
reliable  little  girl  of  fourteen,  to  call  every  morning 
and  evening  at  his  home  during  his  absence,  to  do 
chores  for  Minnie,  run  errands,  and  bring  the  mail. 

[149] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

The  mail  would  of  course  consist  of  his  daily  letter 
to  Minnie;  nothing  else,  for  they  had  no  correspon- 
dents and  none  of  the  periodicals  for  which  they  sub- 
scribed was  due  at  this  time. 

Minnie  was,  then,  surprised  when  on  Monday 
evening,  a  half  day  after  John's  departure,  Eva 
Hertzogg  brought  her  a  letter  from  the  postoffice. 

"Why,  I  didn't  look  for  a  letter  till  to-morrow 
morning  yet!  I  don't  see  how  it  could  get  here  that 
quick,"  she  said  as  she  eagerly  took  it  from  the  little 
girl. 

"It  can't  be  from  Mister,"  Eva  pointed  out,  "for 
the  reason  that  its  postmark  is  Hesswille." 

"And  it  ain't  his  penmanship,  either,"  added  Min- 
nie wonderingly.  "It's  awful  poor  penmanship!" 

She  opened  the  letter  quickly,  a  vague  fear  in  her 
heart  of  impending  trouble. 

"Who's  it  from?"  asked  Eva  curiously,  running 
around  to  Minnie's  side  and  looking  over  her  shoul- 
der. "Why,  it  ain't  signed,  is  it?" 

Minnie  started  to  read  it  aloud,  but  changed  her 
mind  after  a  few  words  and  sent  the  curious  and  very 
reluctant  Eva  home. 

Then  she  reopened  and  read  slowly  and  carefully 
this  appalling  communication  which  the  mail  had 
brought  to  her: 

Minnie  Wimmer  You  put  $100  in  a  enwelope  and  stick 
it  under  the  shutter  of  the  window  on  your  south  porch,  on 
Toosday  at  nine  p  m  in  the  evning.  Or  before  morning 
your  firstborned  will  be  stole  from  you.  If  you  tell  this 

[150] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

here  to  any  one,  your  husband  will  never  come  back  to  you 
alive,  If  you  send  for  him  he  won't  get  your  message.  If 
you  try  to  go  to  him,  yule  be  stopped.  Obay  this  here 
letter  and  none  of  yous  will  be  harmed.  Fale  to  obay  it  in 
everey  partikler  and  yule  be  sorry  for  the  rest  part  of  your 
life.  * 

"This  is  Henny!"  she  instantly  concluded.  "He 
knew  John  would  be  away  this  week  to  Teachers' 
Institute!" 

In  her  physical  plight  and  with  the  two  young 
children  on  her  hands,  her  helplessness  to  cope  with 
the  situation  alarmed  her. 

"If  I  didn't  look  so,  I'd  take  the  babies  and  go 
straight  to  Lancaster  to  John,"  she  thought. 

Since  that  was  impossible,  what  should  she  do? 

If  she  appealed  to  her  neighbours  to  protect  her, 
the  threat  of  harm  to  John  might  be  executed;  and 
as  for  an  appeal  to  the  law,  Hessville's  police  force 
consisted  of  one  feeble  little  constable.  If  she 
telegraphed  to  John  to  come  home,  her  message  would 
perhaps  be  intercepted. 

Perhaps  the  only  thing  she  could  do  was  to  hand 
over  the  hundred  dollars. 

"I  always  knew  Henny  would  some  day  try  to 
have  revenge  for  that  money,"  she  thought.  "And 
if  I  don't  give  him  the  hundred  dollars,  he  will 
certainly  do  what  he  says  in  this  letter!" 

But  she  knew  John  would  consider  such  a  yielding 
to  threat  as  inexcusably  cowardly  and  a  very  weak 
conniving  with  wickedness. 

[151] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"And  anyhow,  whoever  it  is  that  wrote  off  this 
letter  (if  it  ain't  Henny)  why,  if  I  gave  him  the  money, 
it  would  only  encourage  him  to  come  another  time 
and  demand  more,"  she  decided. 

If  Henry  was  not  the  author  of  the  letter,  it  must 
be  someone  who  knew  her  well.  "  To  so  understand 
just  what  would  frighten  me  into  giving  him  the 
money !  For  to  be  sure  I'd  do  most  anything  before 
I'd  leave  my  child  be  stolen  from  me!" 

The  more  she  considered  the  situation,  the  more 
frightened  she  became. 

"If  only  I  could  ask  someone's  advice!" 

But  that  would  endanger  John — if  there  were 
anything  in  the  threats  of  the  letter.  She  had  no 
doubt  of  John's  ability  to  defend  himself  if  fore- 
warned. But  with  cowards  who  stabbed  in  the  back ! 

Finally,  after  long  consideration,  she  concluded 
that  the  only  thing  she  could  do  would  be  to  take  at 
least  one  person  into  her  confidence;  to  send  a  man  or 
boy  to  Lancaster  at  once  to  deliver  into  John's  own 
hands  the  anonymous  letter.  John  would  know 
exactly  the  right  thing  to  do  about  it. 

The  question  was  whom  should  she  send?  The  man 
of  the  house  next  door  would,  she  knew,  be  a  willing 
messenger,  but  he  drank  and  could  not  be  trusted  to 
hold  his  tongue  or  even  to  deliver  the  letter. 

There  was  Eva  Hertzogg's  brother  Peter,  seven- 
teen years  old,  who  attended  John's  school — he  was 
a  level-headed  lad;  and  he  would  be  delighted  to  have 
a  trip  to  the  city,  all  expenses  paid. 

[152] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

She  would,  however,  have  to  act  very  cautiously. 
If  Peter  were  seen  by  the  anonymous  letter-writer, 
coming  to  her  house,  it  might  arouse  a  suspicion  of 
her  plan. 

When  Eva  arrived  next  morning,  per  schedule,  to 
inquire  what  provisions  Mrs.  Wimmer  wanted  from 
the  store,  Minnie  was  ready  with  a  list  that  would 
keep  the  family  supplied  with  food  for  a  month. 

"It'll  be  too  heavy  for  you  to  carry,  Eva,  so  get 
your  brother  Peter  to  come  right  up  here  with  the 
things  as  fast  as  he  otherwise  can !  I  got  to  have  that 
peck  of  potatoes  right  aways." 

"But,  Missus,  you're  got  potatoes  a-plenty  in 
your  cellar !  A  bar'l  full  anyhow ! " 

"I  don't  like  mine — I  have  hungry  for  the  nice 
ones  they're  got  at  Laub's  store.  Tell  Peter  to  hurry 
with  the  potatoes,  Eva!  I  got  to  have  them  till 
twenty  minutes  a'ready." 

Eva,  as  she  obeyed,  decided  that  here  was  a  proof 
of  what  she  had  heard  of  the  cranky  notions  women 
got  when  they  were  pregnant. 

"To  be  that  fussy  about  such  common  things  as 
potatoes  yet! — that  you  even  let  your  bar'l  full  and 
go  and  buy  other  ones !  Don't  it  beat  all ! " 

"Better  hurry,  Peter,  with  them  potatoes  she's 
cravin',  or  she'll  throw  a  fit!"  Eva  advised  her 
brother.  "I  bet  you  she'll  pitch  in  and  eat  one  of 
them  Laub's  store  potatoes  raw,  as  soon  as  she  can 
get  her  hand  on  'em!" 

But  when  Peter  arrived,  breathless,  with  his 
[153] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

heavy  load,  Minnie  manifested  no  interest  whatever 
in  the  potatoes. 

"Peter,  you  must  go  to  Lancaster  for  me  on  the 
nine-thirty  train,"  she  announced  to  the  astonished 
boy  as  she  put  a  dollar  bill  into  his  hand,  "and  find 
Mister  at  Teachers'  Institute  and  deliver  him  this 
note" — putting  into  his  hand  the  anonymous  letter 
sealed  in  a  fresh  envelope  and  addressed  to  John. 
"You  know  Teachers'  Institute  is  held  at  the  Court 
House.  Don't  leave  any  one  see  the  note  !  And  don't 
give  it  to  any  one  but  John.  He'll  come  on  home 
with  you." 

"Ain't  you  feelin'  so  well,  Missus,  that  you  must 
send  for  Mister  over?  " 

"Oh,  I'm  feelin'  just  so  middlin'.  But — but  I  got 
to  have  Mister  home  right  aways.  Will  you  go?" 

"Sure,  Missus,  if  Mom'll  leave  me." 

"But,  Peter,  I  don't  want  any  one  to  know  I'm 
sending  for  Mister — not  even  your  mother." 

"But  Mom  won't  know  where  I'm  at!  She'll  be 
worried  and  have  cross  at  me!" 

"You'll  be  back  by  one  o'clock.  Eva's  coming 
back  for  an  hour  this  morning  to  help  me  and  I'll 
explain  to  her.  You  go  right  to  the  depot  from  here, 
Peter,  without  going  home  first;  and  you  dare  keep 
the  change  from  the  dollar." 

"Och,  thank  you,  Missus,  but  that's  most  too 
much  pay!  It's  only  fifty  cents  round  trip  to 
Lancaster." 

"You  can  keep  the  change." 
[1541 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Thank  you  kindly.  But  I  ought  anyhow  to  put 
on  my  Sunday  suit  to  go  to  town  yet ! " 

"You  haven't  time!"  cried  Minnie  desperately. 

"Don't  you  want  fur  our  Evy  to  fetch  Mom  and 
the  doctor  whiles  I'm  goin'  fur  Mister?"  asked 
Peter,  blushing  but  well-meaning. 

"Och,  no,  Peter!  I  tell  you  I  don't  want  a  living 
soul  to  know  you  are  going  for  Mister! " 

"All  right  then,  Missus,"  said  Peter  soothingly, 
thinking  that  such  extreme  "modesty"  as  would 
conceal  from  her  neighbours  the  imminent  necessity 
for  summoning  "Mister-"  was  even  crankier  than  a 
craving  for  "store  potatoes."  "I'll  start  right 
aways,"  he  agreed. 


[155] 


CHAPTER  XH 

OF  COURSE  it's  Hen,"  John  agreed  with 
Minnie  when,  upon  his  return  at  one  o'clock, 
they  talked  it  over,  while  he  ate  the  hot 
dinner  she  placed  before  him.  "Do  you  know  his 
penmanship  when  you  see  it,  Minnie?" 

"  No — for  the  reason  that  he  never  wrote  anything 
— though  to  be  sure,  Henny  can  write.  This  letter 
could  be  his  penmanship,  for  all  I  know." 

"Nobody  else  could  be  writing  you  such  a  letter. 
It  sounds  like  Hen!" 

"I  was  so  sorry  to  call  you  home!"  said  Minnie 
regretfully,  though  the  weight  of  the  universe 
seemed  to  have  rolled  from  her  heart  in  knowing  her 
children  to  be  once  more  under  their  father's  sure 
protection.  "You  can  go  right  back  to-morrow, 
John." 

"You  did  the  right  thing  to  get  me  here.  When  I 
think  of  you  and  the  babies  at  Hen's  mercy! — with 
me  away!  Well,  I  ain't  letting  you  alone  again, 
Minnie.  I'll  get  Mother  or  one  of  the  girls  to  come 
and  stay  with  you." 

"Would  your  father  spare  one  of  them?" 

"He'll  have  to.  Of  course  he'll  kick!  Gosh,  how 
he  hates  me!"  added  John  a  little  sadly.  "It  must 

[156] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

be  great,  Minnie,  to  have  a  father  you  can  respect  and 
be  fond  of!" 

"  Your  children  have  that  kind  of  a  father ! " 

"A  man's  children  ought  to  keep  him  to  the  mark — 
ain't?  I'd  hate  for  my  children  not  to  be  able  to 
respect  me." 

"That's  one  grief  you'll  never  know,  John,  dear!" 

"No  telling,  Minnie — a  man's  got  temptations 
that  an  innocent  girl  like  you  couldn't  understand — 
and  better  men  than  me  have  yielded  to  them." 

At  half-past  eight  that  evening,  Minnie,  acting 
under  John's  directions,  stepped  out  of  the  house, 
went  to  the  southern  end  of  the  porch,  tucked  a 
sealed  envelope  containing  a  sheet  of  blank  paper 
under  the  shutter,  and  returned  to  the  house. 

"Of  course  he  won't  come  for  it  if  he  saw  me  come 
home,"  said  John.  "But  if  he  didn't  know  you  sent 
Peter  for  me,  I  guess  he  wasn't  watchin'  for  me  to 
come." 

He  wrapped  himself  in  a  big  coat  and  under  cover 
of  the  darkness  stole  out  to  the  thick  evergreen  hedge 
at  the  south  side  to  the  house  and  lay  down  to  wait 
for  the  villain. 

About  nine  o'clock  he  heard  slow  footsteps  ap- 
proaching along  the  silent,  empty  street.  They  did 
not,  however,  turn  in  at  his  gate,  but  passed  on.  He 
lay  very  still  and  waited.  In  a  few  moments  he 
heard  the  footsteps  reapproaching — slowly  and  a 
little  cautiously — from  the  other  direction.  Again 
as  they  neared  his  gate  they  did  not  turn  in,  but 

[157] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

passed  by  and  moved  on,  even  out  of  earshot.  And 
again  John  waited.  Presently  he  heard  them — the 
same  slow,  cautious  steps — returning.  He  propped  his 
head  on  his  hand  and  peered  through  the  dimness  to 
try  to  see  who  it  was  that  was  so  patiently  patrolling 
his  house.  He  descried  the  slim  figure  of  a  young 
boy — certainly  not  Henry's  burly,  clumsy  frame. 
John  held  his  breath  as  the  youth  once  more  ap- 
proached the  gate,  more  slowly  than  before.  He 
paused  now,  for  a  moment — then  entered.  Going 
noiselessly  to  the  south  side  of  the  house,  he  stepped 
upon  the  porch  and  tiptoed  to  the  window.  The 
white  envelope  showed  plainly  against  the  dark 
green  shutter.  Drawing  it  from  its  nook,  he  turned 
hastily  to  step  off  the  porch — only  to  find  himself 
caught  and  held  in  the  unescapable  grip  of  big  John 
Wimmer. 

"Who  are  you,  boy?  Why,  bless  me — Carl 
Eichler !  What  are  you  up  to  ?  " 

"A  man's  givin'  me  a  dollar  to  fetch  him  this  here 
letter,"  explained  Carl  cheerfully. 

"But  what's  the  letter  about?  Why  all  this 
sneaking,  Carl?" 

"He  says  he's  your  sister's  beau  that  your  oP  man 
won't  leave  hang  round  his  place,  so  she  writes  him 
off  sich  love  letters  and  lets  'em  here  fur  him." 

"That's  his  story,  is  it?  Who  is  he — do  you 
know?" 

"No,  he's  a  stranger  to  Hesswille.  A  foreigner 
from  New  York." 

[158] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Look  here,  Carl!  Why  didn't  you  walk  up  to  the 
porch  and  get  the  letter  without  so  much  caution  and 
pussy-footing?" 

"The  man  tol'  me  not  to  get  the  letter  if  I  seen  any 
one  round.  I  guess  he  had  afraid  your  oP  man  was 
watchin'.  Say,  Teacher!"  Carl  suddenly  exclaimed, 
scenting  a  mystery  in  this  errand  relegated  to  him, 
"what's  it  all  about,  anyhow?" 

His  innocence  was  so  transparent  that  John, 
knowing  the  simplicity  of  the  lad,  who  was  one  of  his 
pupils,  could  not  doubt  his  sincerity. 

"Come  on  in  the  house  with  me,  Carl." 

"  But  the  man's  waitin'  fur  me,  Teacher,  with  that 
there  dollar — I  got  to  hurry." 

"He'll  be  more  likely  to  give  you  a  kick  than  a 
dollar  when  he  sees  the  contents  of  that  enwelope. 
Come  in." 

He  led  the  way  to  the  lighted  sitting  room  where 
Minnie,  having  just  put  her  two  children  to  bed,  was 
seated  with  her  sewing — though  she  was  far  too 
anxious  to  be  able  to  work  at  it.  She  greeted  their 
entrance  with  a  start  of  apprehension,  which  turned 
to  astonishment  as  she  saw,  not  her  brother,  but 
young  Carl  Eichler. 

"Now,  then,  Carl,  how  did  this  stranger  get  hold 
of  you?"  asked  John. 

"He  talked  to  me  over  our  back  fence  and  ast  me 
would  I  do  him  this  favour  fur  a  dollar.  Say,  who  is 
he,  anyhow?" 

It  was  six  years  since  Henry  had  left  Hessville 
[159] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OP  HESSVILLE 

and  the  boy  could  easily  have  forgotten  him  en- 
tirely. 

"What  does  he  look  like?"  asked  John. 

"He's  a  thick-built  fellah  with  a  black  beard." 

"Where  is  he  waiting  for  you?" 

"Down  back  of  Laub's  store.  Say,  what's  it  all 
about,  anyhow?" 

"  Come,  I'll  go  with  you.    We'll  take  him  his  letter." 

John  bent  to  kiss  Minnie.     "Don't  worry,  dear." 

"I'll  be  glad  when  you're  safe  home  again!  I 

can't  help  being  afraid "  her  lips  shook  and  she 

bent  over  her  sewing. 

John  smoothed  her  hair.  "I'll  hurry  right  back, 
dear." 

When  he  and  the  boy  were  about  half  way  to 
Laub's  store  he  bade  Carl  go  on  ahead.  "I'll  follow 
slower,"  he  said.  "I'm  going  to  nab  the  scamp  that 
put  you  up  to  doing  his  dirty  work  for  him ! " 

Carl  turned  into  the  lane  back  of  Laub's  store. 
A  few  steps  and  he  came  upon  the  sombre  figure  of  a 
man  skulking  close  to  a  fence,  his  gait  and  his  whole 
bearing  betraying  such  nervous  apprehension  that 
the  boy  shrank  from  approaching  him.  But  the  man 
had  heard  him  coming  and  sprang  forward  eagerly,, 
almost  savagely,  to  snatch  for  the  envelope. 

Carl,  however,  held  it  out  of  his  reach.  "My  dollar 
first!"  he  demanded. 

"Gimme  the  letter  first!"  cried  the  man  in  a 
coarse,  husky  voice, 

"No,  siree — my  dollar  before  you  git  your  letter!" 
[1601 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 
"But    your    dollar's    in    the    letter,    kid!     Gim- 

JJ 

me 

"Then  I'll  help  myself,"  said  Carl,  tearing  open  the 
envelope. 

But  the  man  leapt  upon  him  and  snatched  it. 
"Now  you  don't  git  nothin' — fur  bein'  so  fresh! 
See?" 

He  sprang  away  into  the  darkness — right  into  the 
arms  of  John  Wimmer. 

"Leave  us  see  who  you  are,"  said  John,  wheeling 
the  fellow  about  so  that  the  distant  light  from  Mrs. 
Laub's  kitchen  fell  upon  his  face.  "  Ah,  I  thought  so ! 
Hen  Maus !  Well,  Hen,  if  I  believed  in  jails,  you'd 
get  locked  up  for  that  letter  you  sent  your  sister!" 

"I  didn't  send  her  no  letter!  You  can't  prove  it! 
You  lee'  me  go!" 

"I  can  prove  it  by  your  handwriting,"  said  John  at 
a  venture. 

"That's  where  I  ketch  you  lyin',  fur  it  ain't  my 
writin'!  I  didn't  write  it!"  Henry  stoutly  main- 
tained. 

"It?    What?" 

"The  letter!" 

"Who  did  you  get  to  write  it  for  you?" 

"It's  none  of  your  damned  business  who  I  got!  I 
didn't  git  nobody!  That  there  letter  Minnie  got  was 
wrote  to  her  by  my  wife.  I  don'  know  what  was  in 
it.  Irene  she  ast  me  to  fetch  her  the  answer  along." 

"You  don't  know  what  was  in  the  letter  Minnie 
received?" 

[161] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"  No,  I  don't !    You  lee'  me  go ! " 

"But  you  toF  Carl  Eichler  the  letter  had  his 
dollar  in  it." 

"Well,  anyhow,  you  lee'  me  go,  John  Wimmer!" 

"Listen  to  me!"  commanded  John.  "If  ever 
again  you  bother  Minnie,  I'll  put  you  where  you 
can't!  Even  if  I  don't  uphold  to  jails,  I'd  sooner  see 
you  jailed  than  have  Minnie  frightened  and  bothered. 
You  know  me,  Hen  Maus.  You  know  you  can't 
fool  with  me.  So  you  take  care  and  heed  what  I 
tell  you!  If  you  try  this  kind  of  thing  again,  you'll 
get  yours!  " 

"Lee'  me  go  if  you're  through  your  jawin' ! " 

"Another  thing — don't  you  dare  to  try  and  mix 
Irene  up  in  your  dirty  acts ! " 

"What's  Irene  got  to  do  with  you?  You  mind  to 
your  own  business!" 

"Tell  me — where  is  your — where  is  Irene?" 
stammered  John,  his  hunger  for  news  of  his  secret 
divinity  overcoming  even  his  dislike  of  this  source  of 
it.  "Do  you  know  where  she  is?" 

"It  ain't  none  of  your  damned  business  where  my 
wife  is!" 

"Look  here,  you  answer  my  question — or  by  Godr 
I'll  make  you !  Where  is  Irene  I " 

"You!"  sneered  Henry.  "You  that  wants  to  be 
so  much,  turnin'  red  and  white  about  my  wife! 
Gosh,  I  wisht  Minnie  could  hear  you  now — with 
your,  'Where  is  Irene?'  What 's  it  to  you,  heh?" 

"Answer  me — where  is  she?" 
[162J 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  know?     Oho ! " 

John,  suddenly  realizing  the  futility  of  his  question- 
ing; knowing  that  whatever  Henry  might  answer,  he 
could  not  be  sure  that  it  was  the  truth,  released  his 
hold  upon  him  so  unexpectedly  that  they  both 
staggered  and  Henry  fell  to  the  pavement. 

"Remember  what  I've  said  to  you!"  John  de- 
livered a  parting  warning  as  Henry  gathered  himself 
together  to  rise.  "Annoy  your  sister  again  at  your 
peril!" 

He  turned  away  to  go  back  to  his  home. 

But  he  felt,  as  he  walked  up  the  street,  that  he  must 
not  enter  Minnie's  presence  until  he  had  recovered 
from  the  agitating  effect  of  those  painful  references 
to  Irene. 

"I  got  to  walk  it  off,"  he  told  himself.  "I'll  walk 
till  I've  got  myself  in  hand  once." 

So  shaken  was  he  that  he  did  not  hear,  presently,  a 
stealthy  step  behind  him.  But  when,  just  before 
reaching  his  own  gate,  he  turned  to  walk  back  again, 
he  saw  the  figure  of  a  man,  a  short  distance  ahead  of 
him,  also  turn  abruptly — then  quickly  disappear  into 
the  darkness. 

"Was  that  Hen  following  me?"  he  wondered.  "I 
didn't  hear  him!" 

He  ran  down  the  street  peering  into  the  side 
lanes;  but  he  found  no  one. 

"I'm  so  upset,  I'm  seeing  things!  Hen  wouldn't 
be  following  me — he  was  only  too  glad  to  escape  me ! " 

But  his  little  run  after  the  dark,  disappearing 
[163] 


figure  had  dulled  his  quivering  nerves  and  he  felt  that 
he  could  now  safely  venture  to  face  Minnie.  So  sure 
he  was  that  the  retreating  figure  was  only  imagined 
or  a  shadow  that  as  he  walked  quickly  home  he 
never  once  looked  behind  him.  It  was  not  until  he 
put  his  foot  on  his  own  porch  that  he  heard  a  sudden 
scuffling  noise  at  his  side.  Wheeling  about  quickly, 
he  heard  a  pistol  shot  startlingly  close  to  him.  Be- 
fore he  could  see  who  had  fired  it,  there  was  another 
shot — and  he  fell — face  downward. 

But  it  was  not  the  pistol  shots  which  roused  the 
heavily  sleeping  villagers,  but  a  woman's  piercing 
shriek — followed  by  a  blood-curdling  silence. 


164 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MY  GOODNESS,  John,  you  workin'  at  this 
time    of     night!     Why,    it's     near     nine 
o'clock!"  exclaimed  Jennie  Wimmer  as  she 
entered  her  brother's  cluttered  kitchen  one  evening, 
a  month   after  that  fatal   week   of   the   Teachers' 
Institute.    "It  does  take  a  man  long  to  get  through  all 
— ain't  it  does?     Here!     You  set  a  while  and  leave 
me  finish  redding  up — you  look  wore  out ! " 

"I'm  just  hog  enough  to  take  you  at  your  word, 
Jennie,  and  leave  you  do  it,"  returned  John,  throwing 
down  the  pan  he  was  cleaning  at  the  sink  and  casting 
himself  exhausted  upon  the  settee,  while  Jennie, 
removing  her  wraps  and  rolling  up  her  sleeves, 
capably  tackled  the  wild  disorder  of  the  kitchen. 

Her  snapping  black  eyes,  neatly  arranged  black 
hair,  and  slim,  strong  figure,  all  seemed  to  judge, 
condemn,  and  challenge  the  dirt  and  disorder  of  the 
room.  John  heaved  a  long  sigh  of  relief  as  he 
abandoned  to  her  the  battle  with  the  chaos  of  the 
place.  It  had  beaten  him  completely. 

"My,  but  a  man  is  a  dopple  when  it  comes  to 
housework!"  Jennie  talked  as  she  worked.  "You're 
as  helpless  as  your  two  babies,  John!  How  are  they, 
anyhow?" 

[165] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"  They're  well,  but  they  fret  for  their  mother,  poor 
kiddies! — more  and  more  every  day!"  answered 
John  from  the  settee,  speaking  in  a  dull,  hopeless 
tone  that  made  his  sister's  snapping  eyes  soften  with 
sympathy.  "I  had  an  awful  time  getting  them  to 
sleep  to-night!" 

"And  you  yourself  only  a  week  out  of  the  hospital 
yet!  You  ain't  fit  to  be  worried  like  this!  If  only 
you  could  get  a  housekeeper!" 

"Yes,  if  only  a  body  could !  But  there  ain't  any  to 
be  had,  whether  or  no!"  said  John.  "If  it  wasn't  for 
the  neighbours  being  so  good  about  keeping  the 
children  whilst  I'm  at  school,  I'd  have  to  let  my 
teaching." 

"If  only  Pop  would  leave  one  of  us  girls  come  and 
stay!"  sighed  Jennie.  "It's  awful  to  think  of  you 
having  to  come  home  from  your  school  every  day  and 
do  housework  and  keep  care  of  the  children!  But 
Pop  he  won't  spare  any  of  us." 

"It  goes  without  saying  that  he  won't  put  himself 
out  any,"  said  John  heavily. 

"I'd  of  got  here  sooner  this  evening,"  said  Jennie, 
"but  Pop  he  watches  us  so,  to  keep  us  at  home! 
Goodness  knows  what  heTl  say  when  he  knows  I  got 
away ! " 

"I  wonder  what  he  gets  out  of  it — being  so  mean 
and  so  tyrannical!"  said  John  thoughtfully.  "Now 
that  I  know  what  a  father's  feelings  are — and  a 
husband's,"  he  added  huskily,  "I'm  more  puzzled 
than  ever  over  Pop ! " 

[166] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"And  when  you  think  what  Mom's  had  to  put  up 
with  all  her  married  life!"  said  Jennie. 

"Why  does  a  woman  want  to  get  married  any- 
how," cried  John  passionately,  "when  all  she  gets 
out  of  it  is  sacrifice  and  sickness  and  work !  Look  at 
poor  little  Minnie !  From  the  day  our  first  baby  was 
born,  she  never  knew  a  free  hour !  And  then — when 
I  think,"  he  faltered,  "of  the  price  she  had  to  pay  for 
that  last  baby — and  it  dead  yet ! " 

"Ain't  it  fierce!"  said  Jennie  in  tender  sympathy. 
She  longed  to  go  and  put  her  arms  about  her  stricken 
brother,  to  comfort  him  with  caresses  and  petting 
such  as  one  would  give  to  a  hurt  child.  But  the 
Pennsylvania  Dutch  are  not  given  to  demonstrations 
of  affection  and  she  could  more  easily  have  gone  to 
the  stake.  "Minnie  was  always  as  happy,  though, 
John,  as  a  woman  can  be,"  she  said  softly,  as  she  hung 
up  her  dishcloth  and  began  to  put  the  dishes  away. 

"Why  was  she?"  demanded  John  bitterly. 
"What  did  I  give  her  in  return  for  all  she  gave 
me?" 

"  Love !  You  gev  her  love ! "  said  Jennie,  blushing. 
**And  it  kep*  her  satisfied  and  happy.  I  never 
knowed  a  happier  woman  than  Minnie.  Just 
because  she  had  a  good  man  to  love  her.  You  kin 
take  it  from  me,  John,  that  women  are  just  sich 
nuts!" 

John's  eyelids  were  lowered  and  he  did  not  answer. 
His  heart  was  sick  with  its  secret  sense  of  deep 
disloyalty. 

[167] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

But  after  a  few  moments  he  spoke:  "I  know, 
Jen,  that  I  anyhow  gave  her  companionship.  I  know 
it  from  my  own  lonesomeness  since  she's  gone.  I'm 
so  lonesome  I  think  I  can't  stand  it!  To  come  into 
this  empty  house!" 

"Och,  ain't!"  cried  Jennie. 

Again  they  were  silent  for  a  while,  Jennie  working 
busily  and  John  lying  very  still,  his  eyes  closed,  his 
face  white  and  drawn. 

"Did  you  hear,  John,  that  Irene  Maus  is  home?" 
Jennie  presently  asked  as  she  began  to  pick  up  and 
sort  out  the  medley  of  toys,  clothes,  books,  and 
sundry  other  things  strewn  about  the  floor  and 
chairs. 

John  was  thankful  that  her  back  was  turned 
toward  him  as  she  spoke,  so  that  she  did  not  see  the 
violent  start  her  announcement  gave  him. 

"She's  wearin'  such  a  crape  wail,"  Jennie  con- 
tinued, "fur  Hen — fur  all,  I  bet  you  she  was  only  too 
glad  he  got  kilt  before  the  cops  caught  him!  She 
acts  awful  gay  and  jolly!  Just  think  of  wearing  a 
crape  wail  and  then  not  acting  to  look  according! 
But  Irene  always  was  a  flighty  piece!" 

"How's  her  father?"  asked  John  faintly,  his  hand 
over  his  eyes. 

"They  ain't  got  no  hopes  fur  him.  Mrs.  Laub's 
giving  up  the  store — it  takes  all  her  time  to  tend 
Mister,  she  says,  since  he  has  his  stroke.  And  Irene 
she  says  she  never  did  tend  the  store  and  she  ain't 
beginnin*  now.  But  Mrs.  Laub'll  have  barely 

[168] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

enough  to  live  on  if  they  give  up  the  store,  and 
folks  is  wonderin'  how  Irene  will  support  herself— 
and  her  so  much  for  dressin'  and  a  sporty  time. 
Well,  John,  I  guess  I'll  have  to  be  goin'  now  or 
Pop'll  be  missing  me  and  come  after  me — and  I 
certainly  wouldn't  enjoy  his  comp'ny  home!" 

"I  certainly  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  helping 
me  out,  Jen!  I'll  go  and  hitch  up  my  horse  and 
buggy  and  you  can  drive  yourself  home.  You  must 
not  walk  those  two  miles — it's  after  ten  o'clock," 
said  John,  rising  from  the  settee. 

"But,  John,  if  Pop  seen  your  horse  and  buggy  in 
the  stable  to-morrow,  he'd  know  why  they  was 
there— and  then  I'd  ketch  it!" 

"I'd  drive  you  home  and  bring  the  team  back,  but 
I'm  afraid  to  let  the  children  alone  here — they're  so 
restless  and  wakish.  They  get  awake  and  cry  for — 
for  their  mother!" 

"Them  poor  little  things!  But  I  ain't  afraid  to 
walk  home  alone,  John." 

"I  won't  leave  you  do  it.  Not  if  I  have  to  wake 
the  children  and  take  them  with.  I'll  ask  Peter 
Hertzogg  to  drive  out  with  you  and  bring  the  buggy 
back.  You  stay  here  with  the  children  till  I  go  get 
Peter." 

Jennie,  while  she  waited,  thought  wistfully  of  the 
happy  married  life  Minnie  must  have  had  with  a 
man  who  was  always  so  considerate  of  a  woman  as 
John  was. 

"Yet  he  don't  see  what  he  gev  her  in  return  fur  all 
[169] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

she  gev  him!  Ain't  men  dumb,  though!  Why,  it 
must  have  been  enough  happiness  for  her  just  seein' 
how  awful  dependent  on  her  he  was.  At  every  turn 
he  misses  her!" 

Later  that  evening,  as  Jennie,  alone  in  her  bedroom 
at  home,  was  undressing  for  the  night,  her  mother 
cautiously  slipped  from  her  bed,  at  the  side  of  her 
sleeping  spouse,  and  joined  her  daughter,  to  hear  the 
latest  report  from  the  bereaved  household  of  her  son. 

"It  ain't  only  Minnie's  good  housekeepin'  that  our 
John  misses,  Mom,"  said  the  girl  sadly.  "I  see 
every  day  how  he  misses  not  havin'  her  to  talk  to. 
So  often  when  I'm  down  there  workin',  he'll  start 
tellin'  me  his  thoughts  about  something — and  then 
pull  up  short  when  he  remembers  that  I  ain't  so  nice 
educated  like  what  Minnie  always  was,  and  that  I 
can't  take  in  his  deep  conwersation.  Dear  goodness, 
Mom,  but  Minnie  and  our  John  did  have  fond  for 
each  other!" 

"Well,  to  be  sure,  Jennie,"  responded  John's 
mother  unenthusiastically,  "it's  understood  that  a 
man  and  his  wife  likes  one  another!  That's  under- 
stood." 

"There's  lots  of  things  I  could  sooner  understand!" 
retorted  Jennie,  "judgin'  by  most  marriages  I  seen 
a'ready.  I  could  sooner  understand  how  being  tied 
to  a  person  by  law  would  make  you  hate  'em  like  the 
devil !  But  our  John — a  woman  could  like  him  even 
if  she  was  married  to  him." 

"How  you  talk,  Jennie! — 'even  if  she  was  married 
[170] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

to  him!'  Somepin'll  mebby  happen  you  if  you 
sneer  so  at  God's  plans!" 

"Was  it  God's  plans,  do  you  think,  to  bring  such 
trouble  to  John?  I  think  it  was  Hen  Maus's!"  said 
Jennie  flippantly. 

"  Jennie !  It  takes  my  breath  when  you  speak  so  on- 
religious — it  squeezes  me !  I  can't  get  it  over  myself ! " 

"Och,  Mom!"  Jennie  laughed  involuntarily. 
"You're  talkin'  awful  Dutch!  You're  all  up- 
mixed!  Yes,"  she  sighed,  "this  here  Pennsylwania 
Dutch  does  make  a  body  get  their  words  all  through- 
other!  Ain't?  Even  our  John  yet,  a  little  some- 
times gets  his  words  up-mixed!" 

"I  never  took  notice  that  he  did.  I  think  Johnny 
talks  awful  pretty!"  his  mother  defended  him  from 
any  least  criticism. 

The  practical  difficulties  of  John's  present  situa- 
tion helped  to  dull  somewhat  the  pain  of  his  sorrow. 

"I  know  now,"  he  would  think  while  wrestling 
with  the  cleaning  of  the  house,  the  children's  baths, 
the  laundry  work,  the  cooking,  "why  women  are 
turning  Suffragists  and  wanting  men's  jobs!  And 
these  rotten  jobs,"  surveying  his  disordered  house, 
"are  the  things  Minnie's  had  to  do  every  day  since 
we  are  married!  Why  didn't  she  go  crazy?  She 
with  her  fondness  for  reading  and  the  things  of  the 
mind !  It  makes  me  feel  as  dumb  as  an  ox,  this  kind 
of  work  does!  But  Minnie  was  always  that  bright 
and  intelligent !  And  never  once  since  we're  married 
did  I  see  her  not  looking  happy !  Even  when  she  was 

[ml 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

suffering  the  awful  pain  of  child  birth!  Gosh! 
Why  was  she  so  contented?" 

He  put  from  his  mind  the  unbearable  explanation 
Jennie  had  offered — "You  gev  her  love."  Only  his 
own  heart  knew  the  bitterness  that  lurked  for  him  in 
those  words.  Minnie  had  been  cheated!  She  had 
been  given  false  coin — the  "love"  that  had  made 
her  so  happy  had  been  counterfeit! 

Much  as  he  hated  the  housework  he  had  to  do,  it 
was  his  salvation  from  reflections  that  would  have 
maddened  him. 

"Drudgery!  That's  what  housework  is, 
drudgery!"  he  would  growl  as  he  violently  swept  a 
room  with  all  the  doors  and  windows  tightly  closed, 
wondering,  the  while,  why  Minnie  had  never  choked 
to  death  in  the  process,  as  he  was  doing. 

He  realized  how  marvellously  she  must  have 
managed  her  housework  to  have  spared  him  so 
entirely  from  ever  feeling  its  machinery.  He  had 
known  only  its  comforts. 

"  I  see  now  how  many  ways  I  could  have  helped  to 
make  it  easier  for  her,"  he  thought  with  wild  regret. 

He  learned,  also,  when  he  saw  how  the  weekly 
grocery  bills  mounted  under  his  regime,  what  an 
economical  "provider"  Minnie  had  been.  "One 
less  to  eat,  yet  it's  costin'  twice  as  much!  How  did 
she  do  it?  We  didn't  have  hash  every  day!" 

It  must  be  said  to  John's  credit  that,  greatly  as  he 
missed  the  physical  well-being  which  Minnie's  man- 
agement of  their  home  had  given  him,  he  missed  yet 

[172J 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

more  the  companionship  that  he  now  knew,  as  he  had 
never  fully  known  before,  had  meant  more  to  him 
than  anything  else  he  had  ever  possessed — more  than 
his  home,  his  children,  his  work.  Without  her  he  had 
no  outlet,  no  expression  of  himself  whatever.  He 
felt  spiritually  suffocated.  His  longing  to  talk  to 
her  seemed  at  times  an  unendurable  obsession. 

"If  I'd  never  had  her,  I  wouldn't  feel  so  darned 
lonesome!"  he  would  sigh  as  he  paced  the  floor  in  his 
desolated  home. 

Having  failed  to  find  a  hired  housekeeper  in  or 
near  Hessville,  he  had  advertised  for  one  in  a  daily 
paper  of  Lancaster.  But  the  answers  he  had 
received  had  been  disheartening. 

FRIEND: 

You  request  a  housekeeper.     Leave  me  be  your  house- 
keeper.    I  have  a  grammar   school  education   and   in- 
telligent.    Please  inform  me  by  return  mail  without  fail 
as  to  my  privileges.     Hoping  this  will  meet  your  approval. 
Yours  respectfully, 

MYRTIE  AUKAMP. 

UNKNOWNED  FRIEND: 

Until  this  evening  I  never  heard  of  you.  But  in  this 
evening's  Era  I  seen  an  Ad.  Wanted  a  housekeeper. 
Wanted  for  a  gentleman.  Wanted  to  help  keep  care  of 
two  children.  I  thought  that  will  just  suit  me.  Now  if  I 
suit  you  I  will  come  to  see  you,  and  you  see  me,  and  if  all  is 
Agreeable,  I  will  come.  I  have  no  incumbrance.  I  am 
well.  No  disease.  I  have  took  care  of  invalids,  so  know 
I  can  suit.  I  am  of  an  elderly  age. 

GRACETTA  STEINKOMPH. 
[173] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

DEAR  SIR: 

I  think  I  am  qualified  to  fill  the  position  or  I  would 
not  have  applied.  If  this  proves  satisfactory  I  will  take 
the  position. 

Yours  truly, 

CALLIE  BOLTZ. 

FRIEND: 

I   can   give  A  No.    1.   references   in   regards   to   my 
personality  and  filling  my  last  place  of  employment.     If 
you  can  do  same,  we  can  suit  each  other. 
Yours  trueley, 

ELLIE  BOMBERGER. 

DEAR  FRIEND: 

I  will  come  to  be  your  housekeeper,  for  I  like  the  way 
your  Add  reads.  It  is  interesting  and  fatherly.  Your 
Add  tells  me  you  are  very  nice  and  I  hope  I  am  not 
mistaking.  Please  kindly  don't  through  this  in  wiast 
basket  without  opening  it. 

Your  friend, 

LIZZIE  CRAMP. 

MISTER: 

I  seen  your  Ad  and  think  I  can  come  to  your  wish,  as  I 
am  very  refined  and  kind,  if  you  will  give  me  a  trile. 

Your  Well-Wisher, 

EMMA  DIEFENDERFER. 

DEAR  MISTER: 

I  live  all  alone  and  live  a  lonely  life,  so  need  a  companion 
myself  and  will  be  glad  to  come  and  live  at  your  place  for  to 
be  companionable  and  friendly  to  a  Gentleman. 

Your  true  Frend, 

NAOMI  EBY. 
[174] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

DEAR  GENTLEMAN: 

Nicely  educated  and  of  a  refined  disposition  and  pleasing 
personality.  Will  be  pleased  to  hear  from  you. 

Yours  Sinsear, 

RUTHY  GAUGLER. 

DEAR  SIR: 

Seeing  your  Ad,  I  decided  to  accept  the  offer.  I  need 
a  place  somewhat  to  this  effect.  The  position  you  offer 
me  seems  favourable  to  me.  Will  come  at  once.  I  only 
want  something  whereby  my  need  can  be  met  by  your 
need  or  I  should  say  another's  need.  Would  also  say  I 
am  a  Protestant.  I  know  all  about  caring  for  children. 
I  have  a  cheery  disposition,  gentle  manners  and  a  very 
willing  heart  and  try  to  make  life  bright  for  all.  I  am 
very  refined,  agreeable  and  optimistic.  So  I  feel  sure  I 
can  fill  the  bill  on  agreeable  manners  and  education. 
Now  what  else  do  you  require?  I  was  housekeeper  to  one 
Gent  till  God  called  him  Home.  Ten  years  we  were 
companions  and  his  nurse  when  ill.  Then  another  almost 
two  years  when  he  also  was  called  away  by  death.  We 
loved  each  other.  I  always  like  to  do  to  others  as  I  would 
have  others  do  to  me.  If  you  are  already  suited,  hope 
there  will  be  no  hard  feelings.  And  trust  my  rival  will  be 
good,  kind,  trustworthy  and  optimistic  as  a  Christian  Lady 
should  and  ought. 

Your  humble  correspondent, 

Miss  MAMIE  GROSCH. 

DEAR  EMPLOYER: 

Now  I  have  a  nice  sister  and  has  some  high  school 
course.  She  lives  in  country  so  therefore  has  nice  manners 
and  is  nice.  She  would  be  no  Girl  to  run  around.  If  you 

f  1751 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

can  give  satisfactory  References  as  to  your  moral  char- 
acter, you  can  get  my  sister.  She's  a  nice  Girl.  Was 
raised  in  a  nice  home. 

Yours  truly, 

MAE  KIMMICH. 

KIND  GENT  IN  REGARDS  TO  TOUR  AD: 

I  am  a  lady  of  a  Kind  and  also  a  Christian.  Belong  to 
church.  I  lived  with  a  former  Gent  and  done  all  his 
writing  and  that  was  some,  for  he  had  five  out-of-town 
children  and  they  must  each  have  their  letters  every 
week,  one  or  two.  Please  send  me  an  acceptable  answer. 
If  you  want  to  see  me  personal,  you  can  call.  If  reference 
is  desired,  same  will  be  cheerfully  furnished.  Trusting 
you  will  consider  same  favourably, 

Remain  Sinsere, 

FLOSSIE  HALFPOP. 

DEAR  FRIEND: 

Now  if  I  loved  the  work  I  am  at,  I  would  not  be  writing 
this.  But  it  is  quite  tiresome.  I  could  not  be  expected 
to  love  it.  You  would  not  yourself.  I  desire  to  change 
my  vocation.  I  don't  know  if  you  will  understand,  but  / 
prefer  to  work  for  love  preferable  to  money.  It  isn't 
salary  I  look  to.  I  want  to  make  some  lonely  gentleman 
feel  less  lonesome.  This  may  sound  as  if  I  was  prating 
about  my  virtues.  But  I  assure  you  I  have  no  such 
intention,  even  if  I  do  have  virtues  to  prate  about.  It  has 
always  been  my  One  Desire  to  be  a  companion  to  some  one 
who  would  appreciate  me  and  now  at  last  I  am  about  to 
realize  this  long-cherished  Hope.  I  do  not  keep  Company. 
Kindly  leave  me  hear  of  you  and  oblige 

Miss  AMYE  DAMBACK. 
[176] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Poor  Miss  Damback's  long-cherished  hope  is 
doomed  to  remain  unrealized  some  longer!"  had  been 
John's  mental  comment  on  this  communication. 

DEAR  GENTLEMAN: 

If  its  a  cancer  case  to  nurse  I  tell  you  right  now  I  won't 
nurse  it,  for  I  got  stung  once  when  I  went  to  housekeep  and 
never  again !  So  if  it  ain't,  will  ask  you  to  consider  me  an 
applicant  please  answer  at  once  and  tell  me  more  of  your 
request.  I  have  a  kind  disposition.  Am  a  woman  of 
uncertain  age  and  have  been  thinking  of  doing  something 
of  that  sort. 

Your  Kind  frend, 

MRS.  CHARITY  LOVE. 

There  was  one  letter  that  said  nothing  except  that 
the  writer  hoped  to  be  with  him  in  the  near  future  and 
referred  him  to  "  our  Fire  Chief,  Sam  Kindler." 

"A  fire  chief  named  Kindler! "  John  grinned. 

He  felt  utterly  discouraged  and  hopeless  over  this 
assortment  of  applicants.  "There  ain't  one  among 
them  all  that  don't  sound  dippy!" 

One  of  the  hardest  trials  of  his  present  situation  was 
the  daily  necessity  of  leaving  his  two  children, 
Jacky  and  Sophie,  to  the  care  of  neighbours  while  he 
was  at  school.  He  early  realized  that  however 
kindly  disposed  his  neighbours  might  be,  they  did 
not  seem  to  understand  his  children. 

"Were  they  good  for  you  to-day,  Mrs.  Yutzy?"  he 
would  inquire  when,  after  school,  he  would  call  to 
"collect  "them. 

[177] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Well,  I  guess  it's  my  dooty  to  tell  you,  Mister," 
Mrs.  Yutzy  one  day  replied  to  this  question, 
while  six-year-old  Jacky  and  four-year-old  Sophie 
rushed  frantically  to  be  gathered  into  their  father's 
arms,  "that  Jacky  and  Sophie  both  sweared  somepin 
awful  this  after!" 

"Why,  I  never  heard  them  do  that!'*  exclaimed 
John,  surprised  and  interested  in  this  new  develop- 
ment, but  not  so  shocked  as  Mrs.  Yutzy  thought  he 
should  have  been.  "Where  on  earth  did  they  ever 
hear  any  swearing?  What  did  they  say?" 

"Well,  Sophie  she  wanted  to  play  Sunday  school," 
explained  Mrs.  Yutzy,  "and  she  sayed  to  Jacky, 
'I'm  the  teacher.  Come  here,  scholard.'  But 
Jacky  he  had  tied  his  hands  behind  him  and  pinned 
a  table  cover  on  him  like  a  shawl  and  he  was  layin'  on 
the  floor  with  his  head  under  a  chair — and  he  an- 
swered her,  'I  can't  be  a  scholard — I'm  the  mother 
of  Jesus.'  And  Sophie  she  sayed,  'Mother  of  Jesus, 
come  here*  But  Jacky  he  says,  'Och,  Sophie,  the 
Mother  of  Jesus  can't  be  your  scholard.  The  bad 
men  have  put  me  in  prison  all  tied  up,  till  they  get 
Jesus  hanged  a'ready.  They're  afraid  I  might  stop 
'em.'  'Yi,  yi,'  I  tol'  him,  'you  darsent  play  about 
Jesus  like  that  there!  I'll  tell  your  pop!'  I  sayed. 
And  Sophie  she  sayed,  'But  I  speaked  polite  about 
Him.'  And  then  after  bit,  when  she  wanted  fur  to 
dress  herself  up  like  a  pictur  in  a  fashion  paper  that 
she  seen,  with  sich  a  awful  low-neck  frock.  Jacky  he 
says  to  her,  'No  one  but  Jesus'  mother  has  the  dare  to 

1178J 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

wear  sich  a  low-neck  frock  like  what  that  is!'  Och, 
Mister,  it  freezed  my  blood,  the  light  way  Jacky 
talked  about  sich  sa-kerd  things!  And  when  after 
while  I  was  rockin'  Sophie  to  sleep  and  singin'  to  her, 
*I  have  a  Father  in  the  Promised  Land,'  she  says, 
'/  haven't.  My  fader's  here.'  I  thought  I'd  ought 
to  tell  you,  Mister,  so's  you  could  learn  'em  better 
than  to  be  so  light-minded  about  religion." 

Heavy-hearted  though  John  was,  he  had  to  turn 
away  to  conceal  a  smile  at  the  idea  of  his  two  babies 
being  "light-minded  about  religion." 

"To  be  sure,"  sighed  Mrs.  Yutzy,  "they're  not 
got  their  mother,  now,  to  teach  'em  what's  right." 

"Fader,"  Jacky  here  interrupted,  "when  Jesus 
dot  alive  after  the  bad  men  killed  Him,  did  they  kill 
Him  aden?  Or  did  they  think  it  was  no  dood?" 

John's  eyes  invited  Mrs.  Yutzy's  admiration  of 
this  precocious  intelligence  which,  at  such  a  tender 
age,  asked  such  thoughtful  questions.  "You  see  how 
that  boy  thinks!"  he  pointed  out  with  fatherly 
pride. 

"Yes,  ain't  it  awful!"  said  Mrs.  Yutzy  disapprov- 
ingly. "You  got  to  break  him  of  the  habit,  Mister." 

John  laughed  as  he  turned  to  answer  his  boy's 
question.  "I'll  explain  you  all  about  it  when  we  get 
home,  Jacky,"  he  said  as  he  began  to  put  on  the 
children's  overshoes  and  coats. 

"I  telled  Mrs.  Yutzy,"  Jacky  said  conversation- 
ally, "she  mustn't  say,  'You  bet!'  It  ain't  polite  to. 
Muvver  said  it  ain't.  Is  it,  Fader?" 

1 179  ]  . 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Before  John,  colouring  with  embarrassment,  could 
answer  this  awkward  question,  Sophie  spoke  in. 
"And  Mrs.  'Ootzy  she  teeps  her  'poon  in  her  tup. 
She  hadn't  ought  to — Muvver  said  so." 

"She  don't  know  any  better,"  said  Jacky  com- 
passionately. "She  never  went  to  Kutztown  Nor- 
mal like  my  Fader  did,  to  det  teached.  Did  you, 
Mrs.  Yutzy?" 

As  John  walked  across  the  lot  from  his  neighbour's 
home  to  his  own,  a  child  perched  on  each  shoulder,  he 
thought  despairingly  of  the  drudgery  awaiting  him — 
beds  to  make,  the  breakfast  dishes  to  wash,  supper 
to  cook,  the  kitchen  to  "redd  up,"  the  children  to 
wash  and  put  to  bed. 

"And  I'm  dog-tired!"  he  sighed.  He  had  had  a 
hard  day  at  school. 

He  thought  how  different  his  coming  home  from 
school  used  to  be — a  clean,  orderly  house,  a  warm, 
bright  sitting  room  (unlike  the  rest  of  Hessville, 
John  and  his  wife  had  never  used  their  kitchen  as  a 
living  room),  a  prettily  dressed,  radiant  young  wife, 
and  two  clean  and  fascinating  children  eager  for  his 
return;  the  savoury  odours  of  a  good  supper  coming 
from  the  kitchen;  after  supper  a  romp  with  "the 
kiddies,"  while  Minnie  "did"  the  dishes;  then  a 
story  to  quiet  down  the  excited,  bright-eyed  chil- 
dren— after  which  he  and  Minnie  together  would 
carry  their  precious  babies  upstairs  and  put  them  to 
bed.  Then  a  good,  long,  quiet  evening  alone  with 
Minnie  in  their  sitting  room,  talking  and  reading. 

[180] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Minnie  always  had  a  lot  of  funny  things  to  repeat  to 
him  that  the  children  had  said  during  the  day;  he 
always  had  school  anecdotes  to  relate  to  her.  What 
a  help  she  had  always  been  to  him  when  he  was  per- 
plexed over  some  question  of  government  or  peda- 
gogy !  Oh,  that  had  been  the  life !  Did  ever  mortal 
man  have  such  a  paragon  of  a  wife?  Ah,  had  that, 
perhaps,  been  the  trouble?  If  she  had  been  a  little 
selfish  sometimes,  had  exacted  more  from  him  for  her- 
self, more  leisure,  more  freedom,  more  money;  if  he 
had  had  to  serve  her  more  instead  of  being  served  so 
perfectly  (even  their  financial  security  came  from 
her) — wouldn't  he  have  valued  her  more  highly? 
Had  she  made  herself  too  cheap  to  him?  Was  that 
why  he  had  never  been  able,  in  all  his  comfort,  con- 
tentment, and  even  happiness,  to  forget  Irene? 
Even  yet — stricken  as  he  was — the  thought  of  Irene 
was  never  far  away  from  his  heart. 

He  deposited  the  children  on  the  step  of  the  back 
porch,  opened  the  kitchen  door,  and  took  them  in. 

"  Hello !  Your  Aunt  Jennie  must  have  been  here ! ' ' 
he  exclaimed  as  he  saw  at  once,  with  deep  relief,  that 
the  disorder  of  the  morning  was  all  cleared  away  and 
that  a  supper  was  cooking  on  the  stove.  "Gee! 
Ain't  this  fine  and  dandy!  All  the  work  done  and  a 
hot  supper  cooking!" 

Little  Jacky's  face  turned  suddenly  white.  "  Meb- 
be  Muvver's  corned  home!"  he  said  breathlessly. 

John  pressed  the  boy  to  his  side.  "No,  Jacky,  not 
that— not  that!" 

[1811 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

The  door  into  the  sitting  room  suddenly  opened 
and  little  Sophie,  running  forward  to  greet  her  aunt, 
stopped  short  and  shrank  back  shyly  against  her 
father  at  sight  of  the  strange  lady  in  black  that  stood 
in  the  doorway. 

"Hello,  John!"  exclaimed  the  strange  lady. 

John  trembled  and  every  drop  of  colour  left  his 
face. 

*  *  Why ! "  he  gasped .     *  *  Irene !    You  here — Irene ! '  * 


[182] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IRENE  explained  at  once  that  having  seen  John's 
"ad"  in  a  Lancaster  paper,  she  had  come  right 
over  and  "pitched  in." 

John's  heart  beat  so  wildly  as  he  gazed  upon  her 
that  he  thought  she  must  hear  it.  She  had  grown  so 
much  more  beautiful !  Her  figure  was  fuller  and  her 
stylish,  close-fitting  black  revealed  its  graceful  lines; 
her  shoulders  and  head  were  more  regally  erect,  her 
colouring  much  deeper  than  he  remembered  it — it 
was  truly  marvellous  now!  Surely  she  was  a  woman 
upon  whom  no  man  of  blood  could  look  indifferently : 

It  was  not  until  several  hours  later,  when  supper 
was  over  and  the  children  in  bed,  that  they  sat  down 
alone  in  the  sitting  room  to  discuss  the  situation, 

It  was  the  first  time  John  had  sat  down  in  his 
sitting  room  since  he  had  lost  his  wife. 

"For  old  tunes'  sake,  John,  I'll  help  you  out.  By- 
gones is  bygones  with  me.  I  don't  know  how  you 
feel." 

"You  can't  really  mean,  Irene,  that  you'll  stay 
here  and  keep  house  for  me  and  take  care  of  my 
children!"  he  breathlessly  asked.  It  seemed  in- 
credible that  such  heaven  was  to  be  his.  His  face, 
that  had  for  many  weeks  been  white  and  drawn,  was 

[1831 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

flushed ;  his  eyes,  that  had  been  heavy  and  dull,  were 
sparkling;  his  voice,  that  had  been  lifeless,  vibrated 
with  long-repressed  passion.  "You'll  stay  here  with 
us,  Irene?" 

"That's  what.  To  be  sure  I  ain't  the  house- 
keeper Minnie  was — Hen  was  all  the  time  thro  win' 
that  at  me " 

"I'll  never  throw  it  at  you!"  said  John. 

"Better  not!"  laughed  Irene. 

"You  can  have  the  spare  room,"  said  John  eagerly. 
" It's  awfully  nice  fixed.  Minnie  gave  me  that  suit  of 
furniture  for  a  Christmas  present.  But  we  had  to 
put  it  in  the  spare  room  for  fear  the  children  would 
get  it  scuffed.  You'll  like  that  furniture  in  there." 

"The  spare  room!"  Irene  looked  him  in  the  eyes 
and  laughed. 

John  thought,  "How  little  she  guesses  what  I'm 
feeling! — with  her  sitting  here  alone  with  me! — more 
beautiful  than  ever  she  used  to  be! — she  that  was  to 
have  been  my  wife '  She  don't  nearly  guess  what  I'm 
feeling l  Women  are  that  innocent!  She  wouldn't 
stay  here  if  she  guessed!" 

But  little  did  he  guess  that  Irene  was  saying  to  her- 
self, "Spare  room  yet!  The  country  green-hom! 
Ain't  he  the  slow  one!  Oh,  Lord!  I  wonder  if  I 
can  learn  him  anything!" 

"I'd  think,  John,  your  hard  luck  would  near  make 
you  wisht  you'd  never  got  married, "  she  said,  "since 
it  turned  out  like  this  here !  A  house  and  two  kids  on 
your  hands  and  only  you  to  do  all !  A  man  that  don't 

[184] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

go  and  hamper  hisself  with  a  famb'ly  of  kids  sure  has 
it  good! — mind  you  how  free  he's  got  it  yet!" 

"How  about  the  woman's  side  of  it?  I  often 
think,  when  I  look  back  at  Minnie's  life,"  said  John 
with  a  catch  in  his  voice,  "that  a  woman  pays  too 
dear  a  price  for  what  she  gets  out  of  marriage!" 

"Sure  she  does — when  she's  the  nut  that  most 
women  are.  See  me  bein'  that  kind  of  a  nut!" 

"You're  right,  Irene.  Some  women  make  selfish 
brutes  of  men!  I  only  realize  it  now  that  it's  too 
late — now  that — 

"Such  selfish  brutes,"  broke  in  Irene  spitefully, 
"that  even  a  strong  woman's  got  her  hands  full 
tryin'  to  knock  some  sense  into  'em!  Minnie  had 
Hen  Maus  that  spoiled  up  that  I  had  my  own 
troubles  with  him,  belie'  me,  before  I  learned  him 
where  he  had  to  get  off!" 

"I  was  so  thankful  for  you,  Irene,  when  Hen  was — 
removed  by  Providence  from  your  path!" 

"Say,  John,  you  say  them  things  awful  pretty! 
You  always  did  speak  so  nice!  Many's  the  time, 
since  I  lived  in  the  city,  that  I  wisht  /  had  a  nice 
education.  Out  here  I  never  missed  it  any.  But  in 
the  city  it  gives  you  a  shamed  face  not  to  be  educated 
that  way.  Oncet  when  me  and  Hen  was  out  in 
Chicago,  a  man  ast  me,  *  Where  are  you  from?' — and 
when  I  sayed,  'From  Pennsylwania  back,' — he  sayed, 
'Can  you  talk  it?"  She  laughed  boisterously. 
"Some  lingo,  ain't?  I  didn't  know  we  talked  so 
funny  here  till  I  went  away  from  this  here  bum  town. 

[185] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

With  all  your  grand  education,  John  Wimmer,  why 
do  you  content  yourself  sticking  in  a  hole  like  this 
here?" 

"Because  I'm  not  nearly  educated  enough  to  cut 
a  figure  anywhere  else,"  John  acknowledged. 

"Och,  it's  cheek  you  need,  not  more  education 
than  what  you're  got  a'ready.  If  you  had  some  of 
Hen's,  cheek,  you'd  get  somewheres  " 

"Not  where  Hen  got,  I  hope!" 

"To  be  sure,"  granted  Irene,  "he  did  have  bad 
luck  at  the  end." 

"Good  luck,  I'd  say!  A  quick  death  was  an  easy 
way  out  for  him !  If  the  police  had  caught  him  he'd 
of  got  a  long  prison  sentence  for  attempt  at  murder  ! 
I  trust,"  John  added  doubtfully,  "that  I  don't  hurt 
your  feelings,  Irene,  by  talking  so  plainly  about  your 
former  husband?" 

"You  can't  tell  me  nothing  about  Hen  I  don't 
know!" 

"I  suppose  not.  It  must  have  been  awful  for  you, 
living  with  him!"  said  John  sympathetically.  "And 
yet  you  don't  look  as  if  you'd  had  the  hard  life  I  al- 
ways pictured  you  as  having — with  Hen.  It  don't 
show  on  you  any." 

"Hard  life  no  thin'!  I  give  Hen  as  good  as  he 
sent!  Belie*  me,  I  kep*  him  guessin'  some!  You 
bet  you!" 

John's  subconscious  mind  winced  at  her  coarseness 
(used  as  he  was  to  Minnie's  chaste,  gentle  speech) 
even  while  his  conscious  self  thrilled  at  her  musical 

[1861 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

voice  and  hungered  for  her  red  lips,  her  white  throat, 
her  shapely  shoulders,  her  wonderful  hair  (so  much 
more  abundant  than  it  used  to  be).  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible that  at  last  he  was  going  to  realize,  at  least  in 
part,  the  dream  of  all  these  years  of  thwarted  de- 
sire?— that  he  was  going  to  live  under  the  same  roof 
with  Irene,  sit  opposite  her  at  his  table  three  times  a 
day,  walk  out  with  her,  talk  with  her  of  their  thoughts 
and  feelings  as  he  and  dear  little  Minnie  used  to  do? 
Could  it  be  that  such  unspeakable  consolation  as  this 
was  to  be  vouchsafed  to  him  for  the  calamity  that  had 
befallen  him  in  his  loss  of  Minnie? 

He  saw  that  Irene's  life  in  the  city  had  changed 
her,  given  her  an  air  of  gayety,  of  assurance,  that 
seemed  strange  to  the  serious-minded,  country-bred 
schoolmaster.  He  felt  awkward,  inexperienced,  be- 
fore her  self-confidence. 

"It  surprises  me,  Irene,  that  you've  come  through  so 
fresh  and  strong  from  all  your  trials!"  he  told  her. 
"I'd  have  thought  that  livin'  with  Hen  Maus  would 
have  crushed  even  you!" 

"Och,  John,  it  would  have  took  a  smarter  fellah 
than  Hen  Maus  to  get  the  best  of  me ! " 

"I  always  knew  you  were  strong  and  courageous!" 
said  John  admiringly.  "Now,  about  your  stopping 
here  with  me — we've  got  to  put  it  on  a  business 
basis,"  he  added  in  some  embarrassment  at  the 
necessity  of  a  sordid  money  relation  between  them. 
"What  salary  shall  I  pay  you,  Irene,  for  being  my 
housekeeper  and  taking  care  of  the  children?" 

[187] 


"Housekeeper  and  child's  nurse!  A  large  order! 
Ain't?"  she  laughed — but  she  caught  herself  up  and 
added  demurely,  "We  won't  talk  about  pay,  John. 
I  come  to  accommodate  you,  and  anything  I  can  do  to 
help  you,  I'll  be  only  too  glad  to  do." 

"That's  awfully  kind  of  you,  Irene!  I  can't 
nearly  tell  you  how  much  I  appreciate  it — there  ain't 
no  words  in  the  English  language " 

"Only  so  you  don't  talk  Pennsylwania  Dutch  to 
me!"  she  laughed r 

"But,  Irene,  of  course  it  goes  without  saying  that 
I  couldn't  leave  you  work  for  me  for  nothing  and 
you  a  widow!"  John  protested.  "I'D  pay  you  a 
salary — though  to  be  sure  no  money  can  pay  you  for 
being  so  large-minded  and  big-hearted  as  to  come  to 
me  in  my  trouble  i " 

"That's  all  right,  Johnny!"  she  cried,  patting  his 
head — at  which  his  face,  forehead,  and  neck  grew 
crimson ; ;<  we  won't  talk  about  salary,  though.  When 
I  got  to  buy  things,  you  can  cough  up  the  price. 
That'll  be  better." 

"Any  way  you  like  it,"  agreed  John,  quite  un- 
suspicious. "I'll  see  to  it  that  you  get  all  you  are 
worth  to  me:" 

"No  more'n  that?"  she  said  playfully — and  they 
laughed  together  over  the  joke. 

"You'll  like  the  kiddies!"  he  told  her,  "They're 
the  cutest  little  tads !  And  awfully  affectionate  once 
they  get  to  know  you're  friendly  to  'em.  The  way 
they  miss  their  little  mother!"  said  John  sadly. 

[188] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"The  other  day  Jacky  was  looking  at  her  photograph 
and  he  said  so  wistfully,  *  If  that  was  my  real  muvver 
she'd  open  her  arms  and  hug  me!' — It  broke  me  all 
up!" 

"Och,  what's  the  use?  You  got  to  livei  Buck 
up!" 

"You'll  help  me  to  bear  it,  Irene!" 

"I'll  do  my  darndest,  old  man!" 

He  felt  angry  with  himself  for  shrinking  at  her  way 
of  speaking,  "She  always  was  awfully  blunt  and 
honest!"  he  reasoned  with  himself,  "There  ain't 
any  hypocrisy  about  her." 

"You'll  get  awfully  fond  of  the  children,"  he 
repeated  (was  it  perhaps  to  reassure  himself?). 
"The  funny  things  they're  all  the  time  sayin'!  Here 
the  other  day  Sophie  asked  me,  'Do  storekeepers 
have  homes  and  mothers?' — and  the  other  night 
Jacky  asked  me,  *  Fader,  if  a  bear  dot  into  our  house, 
would  you  telephone  for  a  hunter  to  come?'  Last 
summer  Minnie  and  I  took  them  to  the  seashore  for  a 
couple  of  days  and  one  day  last  week  when  I  was  tell- 
ing them  a  story  about  the  Jungle,  Jacky  said,  'Do 
savages  that  live  in  the  Jungle  wear  nothing  but 
bathing  suits?'  Bathing  suits,  mind  you!"  laughed 
John. 

But  he  saw  that  Irene  looked  uninterested.  "I 
guess  it's  awful  tiresome  of  me  to  keep  talkin'  about 
my  babies  all  the  time!"  he  said,  flushing.  "It  ain't 
reasonable  to  expect  other  ones  to  take  interest  in 
them  like  their  own  parents  take.  But  wait  till  you 

[189] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

get  to  know  them  once!  You'll  be  as  crazy  about 
them  as  I  am — you  can't  help  it.  You  see,"  he 
explained,  "they  ain't  just  like  other  children. 
They're  cuter  and  smarter  and  prettier  and " 

*'Och,  John,  you're  killing!  Of  course  they're  just 
like  other  kids!  Why  wouldn't  they  be?  You'd 
have  need  to  worry  if  they  wasn't!" 

"Well,"  John  maintained,  "I  never  saw  other 
children  around  here  that  played  so  intelligently  as 
my  children  play.  To  be  sure  the  other  children 
didn't  have  the  kind  of  mother  my  children  had — 
Minnie  was  all  the  time  reading  to  them  and  telling 
them  stories;  and  when  they  asked  questions,  Minnie 
was  enough  educated  that  she  could  give  them  in- 
structive answers." 

"Poor  kids!"  yawned  Irene,  "to  have  their  brains 
so  bothered!  I  don't  hold  to  it!"  she  said  tartly. 
"It's  likely  to  go  to  their  heads!" 

"I  don't  think,"  said  John  judicially,  "that  they 
were  over-stimulated." 

"Stimulated!    Did  she  give  'em  spirits  yet?" 

John  felt  chilled.     " Mentally  stimulated,  I  mean." 

"Och,  John,  you  high-brow!  Come  off  the  band- 
wagon ! " 

"But  indeed,  Irene,  it's  as  good  as  a  moving 
picture  show  to  "watch  my  two  children  playing. 
Jacky  was  playing  to-day  that  he  was  on  a  ship  at- 
tacked by  pirates  and  he  hollered  to  God  (he  thinks 
heaven's  so  far  off  he  has  to  holler)  to  send  a  storm  to 
drown  the  pirates.  Then  he  played  that  the  storm 

[190] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

came  and  the  pirate  ship  went  down.  So  then  he 
shouted  to  heaven,  'That'll  do,  God!  You  can  stop 
your  storm  now— their  ship  is  sinked !'  I  thought  I'd 
die  laughing  at  him.  I  kept  wishing  Minnie  could 
hear  them." 

He  paused,  but  Irene,  looking  bored,  made  no 
comment. 

John,  feeling  it  incumbent  upon  himself  to  awaken 
her  interest  in  the  precious  babies  she  was  to  have  in 
her  care,  talked  on.  "This  morning  when  Jacky 
and  Sophie  fell  awake,  I  heard  Jacky  telling  his  sis- 
ter of  a  dream  he'd  had — how  he  dreamed  he  was  in  a 
burning  house  and  how  he  was  a  brave  hero  and 
rescued  all  the  women  and  children — and  Sophie 
(her  eyes  all  over  her  face  with  wonder)  said  to  him: 
*  And  I  dweamed,  too — I  dweamed  I  was  dere  to  help 
you!'  Wasn't  that  cute?"  asked  John  eagerly. 

But  with  a  white  and  shapely  hand,  Irene  patted 
her  yawning  lips.  And  John,  resolutely  putting 
aside  his  sense  of  disappointment,  said  to  himself, 
"It  makes  her  feel  bad,  I  guess,  that  she  has  no 
children  of  her  own,  when  she  hears  about  ours. 

"Irene,"  he  said  to  her,  "it's  a  good  thing  you 
didn't  have  any  children!" 

"Well,  I  guess!  I  got  all  I  can  do  to  support 
myself!" 

"I  mean  it's  a  good  thing  not  to  have  perpetuated 
such  a  heredity  as  Hen  Maus  would  have  trans- 
mitted to  his  offspring." 

"Holy  cats!  Have  you  eat  the  dictionary,  John 
[191] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Wimmer?  I  don't  know  what  you're  trying  to  say! 
Put  it  simple!" 

"You  wouldn't  want  a  son  that  took  after  Hen." 

"That's  talkin'.  Why  couldn't  you  say  it  that 
way  at  first?  But  say!  Your  Min  had  the  same 
blood  as  my  Hen.  What's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"But  the  difference  between  her  and  her  brother 
makes  a  person  almost  doubt  whether  there  are  any 
laws  of  heredity,"  said  John  sententiously.  "  Minnie 
never  believed  in  heredity  much.  What  are  your 
views  about  that  question,  Irene?" 

"I  ain't  got  none!  You're  at  the  wrong  shop, 
John,  if  you're  after  ideas.  I  don't  deal  in  'em!" 

To  herself  Irene  said,  "Oh,  Lord,  ain't  this  excit- 
ing! I  know  I  can't  stand  it  for  wery  long!  Askin* 
me  my  views  about  hereditary  yet!" 

"It  don't  matter  anyhow  what  a  woman  thinks 
about  deep  subjicks,"  she  told  him.  "I  never  yet 
seen  the  man  that  considers  a  woman's  opinions 
worth  nothing." 

"I  always  thought  Minnie's  opinions  worth  con- 
sidering— she  was  such  a  wise  little  woman!" 

"Oh!"  thought  Irene,  "damn  Minnie!  He's  that 
nutty  about  her  yet  that  I  don't  know  if  it's  any  use 
my  buttin*  in  here!" 

"It's  a  pity,"  she  said  aloud,  "that  Min  didn't 
have  some  wise  views  about  havin'  so  many  babies, 
and  about  spoilin*  her  brother  and  about — och, 
look-a-here,  the  woman  &  man  thinks  wise  is  either 
awful  slick  or  else  a  fool  of  a  thing  that  don't  demand 

[192] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

and  take  what's  comin'  to  her.  Say,  John,  I'm  so 
sleepy  I  can't  har'ly  keep  awake  no  more!" 

She  rose,  took  his  two  hands,  and  pulled  him  up. 
"Come  on — conduc'  me  to  the  spare  room!'9 

Again  she  laughed  boisterously  and  her  eyes 
challenged  him.  But  although  John  flushed  red  and 
trembled,  yet  such  was  his  self-control  that,  astute  as 
Irene  had  become  in  some  respects,  she  never 
suspected,  as  he  said  good-night  to  her  at  the  door  of 
the  "spare  room,"  how  wildly  he  yearned  to  clasp  her 
in  his  arms. 


[193] 


CHAPTER  XV 

INASMUCH  as  Irene  Maus  was  John  Wimmer's 
sister-in-law  and  a  widow  who,  because  of  her 
father's  illness  and  business  failure,  had  to  earn 
her  own   living,   Hessville   not   only   tolerated   but 
praised  her  going  to  keep  house  for  John. 

"It  ain't  as  if  they  wasn't  related  together,"  was 
the  town's  lenient  judgment  upon  the  arrangement. 

In  the  fevered  dream  in  which  John  now  lived, 
with  Irene  presiding  over  his  home,  in  Minnie's 
place,  he  was  only  dimly  aware  of  certain  physical 
annoyances  which,  in  a  normal  state  of  mind,  he 
would  have  found  hard  to  bear — her  bad  cooking, 
the  "bluff"  she  made  at  cleaning,  the  damp  and 
wrinkled  napkins,  tablecloths,  and  sheets  to  which  he 
was  served;  his  very  discomforts,  when  caused  by  her 
fan*  hands,  seemed  haloed  with  glory.  Everything 
she  touched  was  beautified  for  him.  Everything  she 
did  had  a  charm. 

But  if  he  did  not  mind  her  domestic  shortcomings, 
there  was  one  failure  of  hers  to  which  passion  could 
not  blind  him.  He  loved  his  children  too  well  not  to 
know  it  when  they  were  neglected.  He  soon  recog- 
nized that  except  when  he  himself  attended  to  their 
needs,  they  went  quite  uncared  for. 

[194] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"I  know  from  ray  own  experience  with  this  job  of 
housework,  Irene,  that  there's  too  much  work  here 
for  one  person  to  do  all,"  he  explained  her  own  delin- 
quency to  her,  though  Irene  herself  never  apologized 
for  it.  "I  know,  now,  that  I  left  Minnie  carry  too 
heavy  a  burden — though  she  never  left  me  see  it  was 
too  heavy.  Always  cheerful  and  contented — and 
seeming  always  to  have  time  a-plenty  to  sit  down  and 
talk  with  me,  how  was  I  to  guess  what  a  lot  of  work  it 
took  to  have  things  the  way  she  always  kept  them? 
Why,  I  thought  Minnie  had  it  easy!  I  wanted  my 
wife  to  have  it  easy  and  I  thought  she  did." 

Irene  was  very  tired  of  hearing  of  Minnie's  virtues, 
but  she  had  not  yet  reached  the  place  where  she 
could  say  so.  She  was  playing  a  game,  and  though 
she  had  not  an  instant's  doubt  of  her  ultimate 
success,  she  knew  she  must  go  cautiously. 

She  did  not  have  to  wait  long  for  her  triumph. 
There  came  an  hour,  inevitably,  when  John's  self- 
restraint  gave  way.  It  was  one  night  just  two 
weeks  after  her  arrival.  They  had  gone  upstairs 
together  and  were  about  to  say  good-night  at  the 
door  of  the  "spare  room,"  when  suddenly,  like 
waters  over  a  broken  dam,  his  passionate,  reckless 
protestations  poured  out  upon  her  as  he  seized  and 
crushed  her  to  his  heart. 

"I  love  you,  Irene!  Don't  you  know  it?  I've 
always  loved  you!  I've  never  for  one  day  stopped 
loving  you!" 

"Och,  John,  are  you  nutty!"  she  laughed  as  she 
[195] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

clung  to  him.  "Always  loved  me  yet!  Where  did 
Minnie  come  in,  then?  Heh?" 

"I've  never  stopped  loving  you — never  for  one 
day!" 

"Yes,  that's  what  you  think  now.  And  while  you 
do  think  it,  leave  us  get  out  of  it  all  there  is  in  it! 
Ain't,  John?" 

"You  do  love  me,  Irene,  don't  you?" 

"Sure  I  do!  What  do  you  think  I  come  here  for? 
To  enjoy  myself  cookin'  and  washin'  dishes  for  you 
and  them  kids  of  Min's?  It  don't  sound  like  me, 
does  it?" 

"Did  you  come  because  you  loved  me?"  asked 
John  wonderingly. 

"Sure!     Why  else?" 

He  wildly  kissed  her  lips,  her  neck,  her  hair.  "If 
this  ain't  wonderful,  what  is  it?"  he  cried.  "Irene! 
We'll  have  happiness,  won't  we?" 

"You  bet  you,  old  boy!" 

"And  you'll  never  feel,  Irene,  that  I — that  I 
wronged  you?  Much  as  I  want  you,  dear — as  I've 
always  wanted  you — I  love  you  too  much  to  wrong 
you!" 

"You'll  find  it  out  about  as  soon  as  I  do,  Johnny — 
if  you  wrong  me ! '* 

"Haven't  you  any — any  scruples,  dearest?" 

"What's  the  use?  Scruples  don't  get  you  no- 
wheres — not  that  I  ever  seen  anyhow.'* 

"I'll  never  leave  you  regret  your  love,  darling! 

Never!" 

[196] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Mebby,"  she  darkly  opined,  "you'll  be  the  one  to 
regret  it — no  tellin'!" 

He  closed  her  lips  with  his  kisses. 


It  was  not  until  several  days  later  that  John  began 
to  have  a  faint  realization  of  the  abyss  into  which  he 
had  deliberately  cast  himself.  He  and  Irene  were 
alone  in  the  sitting  room  after  the  children  were  in 
bed — sitting  together  just  as  he  and  Minnie  had  been 
wont  to  sit  evening  after  evening  for  seven  years. 
Yet  how  different  was  this  fevered  excitement  from 
the  quiet,  peaceful  happiness  of  that  other  life — that 
life  which  now  seemed  to  John  like  a  sweet,  lost 
dream;  a  life  in  which  there  had  been  books,  ex- 
change of  ideas,  deep  affection,  mutual  respect,  aspi- 
ration. By  contrast  with  his  present  thrilling  ex- 
perience, it  seemed  like  Sunday  School  compared 
with  a  Broadway  success. 

Irene,  wearing  a  diaphanous  kimono,  was  lying  on 
a  sofa  and  he  was  sitting  on  the  floor  at  her  side,  one 
of  her  hands  clasped  in  his,  the  other  smoothing  his 
cheek  or  toying  with  his  hair. 

"This  is  happiness,  ain't  it,  Irene!"  he  said 
dreamily,  with  a  long  sigh  of  deep  satisfaction,  as  he 
pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips. 

"Yes— while  it  lasts." 

'*  While  it  lasts  <     Can  it  ever  end,  dearest  ? '  * 

"Sure  it  can — unlest  you  want  to  tie  me  fast  to  you 
by  law  T 

[197] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Bylaw?" 

"Don't  be  so  dumb,  John!  You  know  what  I 
mean!" 

"You  mean — marry  you?" 

"Sure!" 

"But— but  how  could  I?" 

"Get  divorced." 

"Divorced!"  He  caught  his  breath  in  a  gasp* 
"Divorced  from  Minnie  because  she's  sick!  Cast 
her  off  when  she's  helpless!  I — I  couldn't  do  that, 
Irene!" 

"Och,  well,  all  right,  then.  We  can  stick  to- 
gether till  one  of  us  gets  tired.  Ain't?  Or  till 
Minnie  mebby  fools  us  and  gets  well!  Aha!" 

Irene  did  not  take  seriously  John's  protestations 
that  he  had  never,  since  the  days  of  his  betrothal  to 
her,  ceased  to  love  her.  She  did  not  believe  it. 
She  believed  that  he  had  loved  Minnie  and  that  it 
was  only  his  loneliness  and  his  need  in  his  wife's 
absence  that  made  his  passion  turn  to  her. 

"Minnie  will  never  get  well,"  John  answered  her. 
"The  sanitarium  doctors  give  me  wery  bad  hopes 
that  she'll  ever  be  different." 

"Then  you  could  easy  get  a  divorce  if  you  wanted 
to — on  them  grounds." 

"I  don't  want  it!  I  couldn't  do  it!"  he  hotly 
asserted. 

"Oh,  all  right  then." 

"You  know  how  I  wish  I  could  marry  you,  Irene — 
beloved!  But — to  divorce  Minnie!'* 

[1981 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"If  she's  goin'  to  stay  nutty  all  her  life,  she'd 
never  know  you  divorced  her." 

"No,  she  wouldn't  know  it — but  all  the  same  I — I 
couldn't  do  it — I  couldn't!  She's  Jacky's  and 
Sophie's  mother — I  took  her  for  better  or  worse!" 

"Mostly  for  worse — ain't? — if  she's  to  be  on  your 
hands  all  the  rest  of  your  days — a  incurable  nut! 
You  poor  Johnny  boy!" 

"I  owe  her  a  lot — she  gave  me  Jacky  and  Sophie. 
And  her  dear  little  self!  It's  she  took  me  for  worse, 
Irene!" 

"She  sure  did,  seeing  how  things  is  turned  out  for 
her.  But  she  don't  know  she  did.  She  was  satisfied 
whiles  she  had  you,  and  now  she  don't  know  her 
loss — if  she's  like  you  say — her  mind  such  a  blank  all 
tibe  time.  Didn't  you  see  no  change  when  you  was 
at  the  sanitarium  yesterday?  You  ain't  said  a 
word  about  it  since  you  come  back." 

John  shook  his  head,  his  eyes  suddenly  looking 
very  tired.  "None." 

"Don't  she  never  ast  after  the  kids?" 

"Never.     She  don't  know  me  when  I  go!" 

"Ain't  it  queer?" 

"Not  when  you  think  what  she  went  through — 
concussion  of  the  brain  from  her  fall  the  night  I  was 
shot;  a  premature  confinement  without  proper  care — 
me  being  at  the  hospital  wounded  and  not  being  able 
to  see  after  her;  and  then  to  top  all  that,  child-bed 
fever!  What  could  you  expect  after  all  that?" 

"But,  John,  if  the  doctors  all  says  she  can't  never 
[199] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

be  nothin'  to  you  no  more,  I  don't  see  why  you  don't 
ac'  sensible  about  it  and  get  a  divorce.  No  use 
cryin'  over  spilt  milk.  To  be  sure,  if  you  feel  a  little 
conscientious  about  her  that  way,  you  could  always 
pay  to  have  her  kep'  nice  at  the  sanitarium,  even 
when  she  ain't  your  wife  no  more.  I  guess  them 
doctors  don't  give  you  no  hopes  she  might  die,  do 
they?" 

"Irene,  darling!  Minnie  was  always  a  good  wife 
to  me  and " 

"Oh,  help!"  laughed  Irene,  throwing  back  her 
beautiful  head  and  showing  her  white,  strong  throat. 
"Say!"  she  cried  derisively.  "A  woman  that's  a 
'good  wife*  to  a  man  always  does  get  left — and  it 
pretty  near  serves  her  right  fur  bein'  such  a  soft 
mess!  See  what  Minnie's  got  fur  all  them  seven 
years  of  bein'  a  'good  wife'  to  you! — me  here  in 
your  arms  and  her  livin'  in  a  houseful  of  crazy  nuts! 
She'd  of  better  done  the  way  I  done — I  took  my 
pleasure  as  I  went  along — it's  the  only  way  to  get  any. 
My  adwice  to  you,  John  Wimmer,  is  get  divorced  and 
marry — or  mebby  you  won't  be  able  to  hold  me!" 

"Look  here,  Irene,"  answered  John  earnestly, 
"I  love  you  and  I'll  be  true  to  you.  But  leave  us 
never  again  speak  about  me  divorcing  Minnie. 
Promise  you  won't!" 

"I  won't  have  to  speak  about  it — it'll  be  you  that'll 
be  speakin*  about  it — just  as  soon  as  you  see  you 
can't  hold  me  without  gettin'  married  to  me.  You 
mind  if  you  don't!" 

[200] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

John  shuddered  and  did  not  reply.  How  could  he 
be  sure  that  her  prediction  would  not  come  true? 
It  did  not  now  seem  possible — but  a  few  months 
ago  how  impossible  would  have  seemed  his  present 
situation! — Minnie  in  a  sanitarium  for  the  rest  of 
her  life,  her  mind  asleep;  and  he  living  "in  sin"  with 
Irene,  his  first  and  only  love! 

"Och!"  he  suddenly  started,  "what's  that?" 

"I  didn't  hear  nothing,"  said  Irene. 

"It's  the  children — they  have  fallen  awake,"  he 
said  hastily,  starting  to  rise  from  her  side. 

"Och,  set  still!"  commanded  Irene  fretfully,  pres- 
sing the  palm  of  her  hand  on  the  top  of  his  head. 
"You  hadn't  ought  to  go  up  to  'em  when  they  wake; 
it  gets  'em  too  spoilt." 

"I'll  just  open  the  stair  door  and  listen  if  they 
need  something,"  he  said,  drawing  away  her  hand, 
but  kissing  it  as  he  let  it  go.  "Mebby  they're 
thirsty,  or  scared,  or — or  lonesome  for  their  mother." 

"You  spoil  'em  something  awful!"  Irene  scolded 
crossly. 

John  opened  the  stair  door  and  listened.  "  They're 
scrapping! "  he  announced.  " If  other  parents  didn't 
tell  me  that  their  children  all  scrap  with  each  other, 
I'd  think  mine  were  depraved ! "  he  grinned.  "They're 
near  dismembering  each  other!" 

"You  ought  to  spank  'em  good!"  snapped  Irene. 

He  looked  at  her  wistfully.  "If  they  were  your 
own,  Irene  dear,  you  would  feel  so  different!" 

"WeU,  they  ain't.  And  don't  you  think  I 
[201] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

wouldn't  settle  my  own  good  when  they  bothered 
me — if  I  had  any!" 

"Hi,  there!"  John  called  up  the  stairs  as  the 
noise  of  battle  waxed  louder. 

Two  sobbing  voices  called  down  from  above  as  the 
boy  and  girl  sprang  out  of  bed  and  ran  to  the  head  of 
the  stairs. 

"Fader!  Sophie  says  she  won't  marry  me  and  I 
don't  want  to  marry  a  strange  lady  that  I  ain't 
acquainted  to!"  bawled  Jacky. 

"But,  Fader,"  wailed  Sophie,  "I  don't  want  to 
marry  a  boy,  I  want  to  marry  a  printheth ! " 

"And  she  says,"  cried  Jacky,  pointing  an  accusing 
finger  at  his  sister,  "dat  a  drave  yard  is  where  they 
make  dravy  and  she  won't  believe  me  when  I  telled 
her  it  arn't!" 

"And,  Fader,  Jacky  slapped  me  tause  he  says  I 
say  isn't  I,  for  arn't  I!" 

John  ran  upstairs,  picked  them  both  up,  and 
carried  them  back  to  bed,  admonishing  them,  as  he 
kissed  them,  to  be  quiet  and  not  to  get  out  of  bed 
again.  He  felt  deeply  the  tragic  loss  to  his  children 
of  such  a  mother  as  they  had  had  and  he  tried  to 
make  up  to  them  in  tenderness,  patience,  and  in- 
dulgence for  the  love  that  had  gone  out  of  their 
lives. 

"Fader!"  Jacky  manoeuvred  to  detain  him  as  he 
started  to  leave  the  room,  "did  God  make  Hisself?" 

"Och,  Jacky,  son,  no  mortal  man  could  answer  you 
that!  Anyhow,  I  never  heard  of  any  that  could." 

[202] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"But  when  Muvver  was  here,"  said  Jacky  plain- 
tively, "if  she  didn't  know  the  answers  to  my 
questions,  she  made  up  a  answer.  If  you  don't 
know  wevver  God  maked  Hisself,  why  don't  you 
read  a  book  and  find  out!  I  want  to  know!" 

"Where  is  Muvver?"  asked  Sophie  sleepily. 

"In  Phil-delf-ella,"  Jacky  told  her.  "Fader, 
Aunt  Iween  says  ewy  body  in  Phil-delf-ella  is 
richer'n  kings,  so  please  write  to  Muvver  and  tell  her 
to  fetch  me  a  pony,  won't  you?" 

"She  wouldn't  have  money  enough,  Jacky." 

"Is  a  pony  too  suspensive  for  even  a  king  to 
buy?" 

"But  your  mother  isn't  rich  and  she's  wery  sick, 
my  dear." 

"Poor  piteous  Muvver!"  sobbed  Sophie.  "I 
wish  my  muwer  would  come  home!  It's  years  and 
years  since  I  saw  my  muwer!" 

John  soothed  and  comforted  his  little  girl,  while 
Jacky  chattered. 

"Fader,  do  you  mind  that  song  Muwer  used  to 
sing  to  us,  'bout  sin,  shame,  and  sorrow?" 

"What  ith  thin?"  interrupted  Sophie. 

"Sin  is  putting  a  cat  in  water,"  Jacky  promptly 
answered. 

"Cruel  ith  thin,"  Sophie  nodded  understandmgly. 

"I  know  what  patriotic  is,"  Jacky  boasted.  "It's 
red,  white,  and  blue!" 

"I  wish,"  sighed  Sophie,  "dat  Muwer  was  here 
to  sing  me  to  s'eep — she'd  sing,  'Jesus  wants  me  to  be 

[203] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

a  little  sunbeam.'  A  sunbeam's  wed  and  yellow. 
I'll  have  to  paint  mysel  wed  and  yellow  wif  Jacky's 
paints — for  Jesus  wants  me  to." 

"I'd  wavver  be  a  wainbow  for  Him,  then  I  could 
paint  myse'f  purple  and  blue  and  orange,  too,"  said 
Jacky. 

"Fader,"  asked  Sophie,  "was  I  borned  when  I 
was  jus'  on'y  a  teeny  'ittle  baby  and  tould  on'y 
jabber?" 

"Yes,  dear.  Go  to  sleep.  Father  must  go  down- 
stairs." 

"If  Muwer  don't  soon  come  back  home,"  com- 
plained Sophie,  "I'm  goin'  to  ast  Jesus  to  be  my 
Muvver." 

John  got  himself  away  at  last  and  went  slowly 
downstairs,  thinking  regretfully  that  he  must  not 
bore  Irene  with  a  repetition  of  his  children's  bright, 
cunning  talk.  How  he  would  have  hastened  to  tell 
Minnie  all  the  amusing  or  touching  things  they  had 
been  saying  just  now,  and  how  she  would  have 
delighted  in  their  brightness,  and  how  deeply  and 
vitally  at  one  he  and  his  mate  would  have  felt  in 
their  common  love  and  interest  in  their  wonderful  and 
charming  babies! 

But  he  had  learned  by  this  time  that  his  children 
did  not  interest  Irene;  that  nothing  interested  her 
that  did  not  centre  in  herself. 

"Look-a-here,  John,"  she  greeted  his  return  to  her 
side,  "you'll  have  to  cough  up  some  cash  for  me  to- 
morrow. I  got  to  go  to  town  to  buy  myself  some 

[204] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

clo'es.  I  seen  by  the  paper  there's  a  special  sale  at  a 
big  department  store,  of  ling-ry  and  silk  hose  and 
coat  suits." 

"All  right,  dear.  Will  you  take  the  children 
along  to  town?" 

"Holy  cats!  Drag  them  youngsters  along!"  she 
laughed.  "Not  if  I  know  myself!  It'll  be  a  awful 
relief  and  rest  to  be  rid  of  'em  for  a  day ! " 

John  tried  to  conceal  his  hurt.  "I  bet  you  you'll 
be  awfully  glad  to  see  'em  again  when  you  come 
back!"  he  ventured. 

"Och,  I  could  manage  to  worry  through  more'n 
one  day  without  'em  if  I  put  my  mind  to  it ! " 

She  offered  no  suggestion  as  to  what  disposition 
should  be  made  of  the  children  during  her  absence. 
John  waited  to  hear  her  broach  the  subject.  But  as 
she  did  not,  he  said,  "I'll  have  to  take  them  to  school 
with  me  for  the  day.  It's  darned  hard  on  me, 
though!  They're  not  used  to  school  and  they  won't 
keep  still.  They  set  an  awfully  bad  example  to  the 
other  scholars." 

He  laughed,  looking  to  Irene  to  share  his  amuse- 
ment at  the  joke. 

"I  don't  see  nothing  funny  in  that — in  your 
children  setting  a  bad  example  to  the  other  scholars." 

"Don't  you?  But  it  is  funny.  You  see  I  ain't 
like  Squeers — I  don't  fatten  up  my  children  for  an 
advertisement .  ** 

"Who's  Squeers." 

"A  Dickens  character." 

[2051 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"What's  that  again? — a  dickens  of  a  character,  do 
you  mean?" 

"A  character  in  a  novel,  I  mean,"  John  briefly 
returned. 

"Och,"  retorted  Irene  fretfully,  "you're  always 
talkin'  about  them  book  people  like  as  if  they  was 
your  neighbours  and  friends!" 

"They  are.  I  guess  they  were  always  a  lot  more 
real  to  Minnie  and  me  than  our  actual  neighbours." 

"No  wonder  she's  in  a  crazy  house  then!  And 
you,  Johnny,  you  better  watch  out,  or  you'll  get 
there  yourself!" 

She  patted  his  cheek  playfully  and  smoothed  his 
hair  from  his  forehead.  He  bowed  his  head  and 
kissed  her  lovely  white  neck. 


[2061 


CHAPTER  XVI 

NOW  that  Irene's  claim  and  hold  upon  John 
were  secure,  her  demands  for  money  became 
incessant  and,  from  his  standpoint,  very 
extravagant.  Their  relation  being  what  it  was,  he 
felt  bound  to  be  far  more  indulgent  than  any  Pennsyl- 
vania Dutchman,  even  an  exceptional  one  like 
John,  would  ever  dream  of  being  with  a  wife.  For  a 
time  he  gave  her  everything  she  asked  of  him  within 
the  limits  of  his  salary  as  a  teacher.  He  had  had  a 
raise  a  year  ago  and  he  considered  his  salary  of 
ninety  dollars  a  month  to  be  large.  But  he  was  now 
obliged  to  go  shabbily  clad;  to  deny  himself  books 
and  periodicals  which  he  greatly  desired;  to  do 
without  many  things  which  he  needed,  while  Irene 
decked  herself  in  fine  raiment  and  jewels. 

There  was  a  point,  however,  at  which  he  took  a 
stand— a  point  from  which  her  most  seductive 
blandishments  seemed,  at  this  stage,  powerless  to 
move  him.  He  refused  to  give  her  a  dollar  of 
Minnie's  income  of  one  hundred  dollars  a  month;  nor 
would  he  go  into  debt. 

"I  use  Minnie's  income  for  her  and  the  children. 
Not  a  dollar  for  myself  now"  he  would  reply  to- 
Irene's  urging,  emphasizing  the  "now"  with  a 

[207] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

significant  kiss.  "I've  forfeited  the  right  to  use  her 
money." 

"So  long  as  she  can't  use  it  herself,  you  ain't 
robbing  her  any  if  you  do  use  it,"  Irene  would  argue. 

But  John  refused  even  to  discuss  the  question. 

Irene,  however,  did  not  give  up.  "I'll  make  him 
use  it,"  she  resolved.  "As  if  I'd  do  all  I'm  doing  for 
a  man  that's  got  only  ninety  dollars  a  month  yet,  to 
spend  on  me  and  hisself  together!  I  can  easy  bag 
bigger  game'n  that!  He  must  be  conceity  if  he 
thinks  I  love  him  good  enough  to  take  him  for  the 
little  he's  givin'  me!" 

The  stakes  for  which  she  had  played  her  game  were 
much  higher. 

"I'll  get  my  fingers  on  that  little  old  pile  Doc 
Maus  left,  or  I'm  a  nut!"  she  said  with  secret  fury. 
"I  ain't  wastin'  my  time  much  longer  for  the  Kttle 
Tmgettin'!" 

Her  frequent  excursions  to  the  city,  upon  which 
John  seldom  accompanied  her  (she  did  not  seem  to 
want  him  to),  were  sometimes  prolonged  for  several 
days.  Her  account  of  herself  after  an  extended 
absence  was  always  vague  and  indefinite.  John 
wondered  at  this  indefiniteness,  but  being  a  very 
candid  person  himself,  he  never  dreamed  of  suspect- 
ing her  of  any  treachery.  His  instinctive  fineness 
checked  his  pressing  for  information  which  she 
seemed  reluctant  to  give. 

He  soon  realized  that  her  actual  dislike  of  his 
children  was  reciprocated  by  them.  They  would 
.  [208] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

have  nothing  to  do  with  her.  At  the  table  it  was 
their  father  who  must  tie  on  their  bibs,  cut  their 
meat,  put  "spreadins"  on  their  bread.  They  re- 
fused to  touch  anything  offered  to  them  by  their 
aunt.  No  discipline  which  John  imposed  could 
break  down  this  attitude. 

"You  darsen't  say  'I  won't  to  your  Aunt  Irene!"3 
he  would  admonish  his  daughter.  "Don't  leave  me 
hear  you!" 

"Lizzie  Landis  says  it  to  her  Aunt,"  Sophie  would 
argue. 

"Lizzie  Landis  don't  know  any  better." 

"Neever  do  I  know  any  better,  Fader!" 

"I  never  seen  two  hatefuller  children!"  Irene 
would  declare. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  two  can't  act  nice  with  your 
Aunt  Irene!"  poor  badgered  John  would  plead  with 
his  boy  and  girl.  "You  never  act  so  ugly  when 
you're  at  Grandmother's!" 

"Don't  you  see  why,  Fader?"  Jacky,  looking 
thoughtful,  asked  him  one  day. 

"No,  I  don't,"  John  answered  rather  hypocriti- 
cally. 

"Well,  I'll  'splain  it  to  you.  You  see,  you  and 
Muvver  and  Aunt  Jennie  and  Aunt  Susie  and 
Grandmother  and  Aunt  Sallie  and  all  my  parents 
love  me.  But  Aunt  Irene  not." 

"She  would  if  you'd  be  good  to  her." 

"But  she  ain't  good  to  us.  She  shakes  us  so  hard 
that  nearly  all  the  air  gets  out  of  us." 

[209] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"If  Aunt  Iween  don't  wike  us,"  Sophie  added, 
"anyhow  my  muvver  used  to  fink  I  was  the  nicest 
'ittle  dirl  wound  here!" 

"When  we're  sassy  to  her  she  puts  red  pepper  on 
our  tongues,"  said  Jacky.  "Gee,  but  it  burns! 
Say,  Fader,  if  any  robbers  gets  into  this  house,  you 
just  put  red  pepper  on  their  tongues  and  they'll  run 
away  and  never  come  back! " 

Sometimes  Irene  would  insist  upon  John's  punish- 
ing the  children  for  things  that  happened  in  his 
absence.  This  he  found  it  very  hard  to  do.  Minnie 
had  never  asked  such  a  thing  of  him. 

"Jacky  passed  insults  at  the  washlady  to-day,  so's 
she  up  and  left  without  finishing  her  work  and  7  had 
to  get  at  and  finish  all!"  Irene  one  day  complained 
to  Jacky 's  father  on  his  return  from  school.  "Now 
if  you  don't  punish  him  good,  John  Wimmer,  I'll  want 
to  know  the  reason  why!" 

The  "washlady,"  Mrs.  Johnson,  was  the  only 
coloured  woman  of  Hessville,  and  not  only  had 
Jacky  never  seen  her  before  to-day,  but  she  was  the 
first  Negro  he  had  ever  seen  at  all. 

"How  did  he  insult  her?"  asked  John  with  the 
keen  interest  he  always  manifested  in  any  least 
thing  said  or  done  by  his  two  children. 

"Well,  first  it  was  Sophie — she  up  and  said  to 
Mrs.  Johnson,  'You're  a  bwack  wady,  ain't  you? 
What  makes  you  so  bwack?'  Then  Jacky  he  butts 
in  and  says  to  her,  'Why  don't  you  wash  yourself? 
You're  too  dirty.  You're  black!  Go  wash  yourself 

[2101 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

white!'  Your  children  got  to  be  learnt  better 
manners,  John!" 

"You  must  say  teached,  not  learnt,  Aunt  I  ween," 
Jacky  corrected  her.  "And,  Fader,  Aunt  Iween 
always  says,  'You  kids  keep  quiet,  I  want  to  lay 
down.'  But  she  had  ought  to  say,  'I  want  to  lie 
down.'  If  we  say,  'I  want  to  lay  down,'  we're 
hens;  but  if  we  say  'I  want  to  lie  down,'  we're  little 
boys,'"  explained  the  schoolmaster's  well-instructed 
son. 

"The  wabbit  is  going  to  lie  some  eggs  for  me;  ain't 
he,  Fader?"  put  in  Sophie. 

"Say,  Fader,"  said  Jacky,  "Aunt  Iween  told  a 
book-agent  she  was  a  widow-lady.  Why  is  she?" 

"Because  her  Mister's  dead.  She  has  no  hus- 
band." 

"Then  was  Muwer  a  widow-lady  before  she 
married  you?" 

"No.     She  was  a  maiden  lady." 

"Ain't  Aunt  Iween  your  wife  now?  And  ain't  my 
Muwer  a  grass  widow?  What  is  a  grass  widow? 
The  book-agent  told  Aunt  Iween  she  was  a  grass 
widow.  Does  she  have  to  eat  grass  'cause  she  hasn't 
any  Mister  to  earn  up  money  to  keep  her?" 

"Och,  shut  up!"  cried  Irene.  "Shut  up,  and  give 
us  a  rest,  can't  you?" 

When  John  refused  to  punish  the  children  for  their 
quite  innocent  questioning  of  the  washwoman, 
Irene's  resentment  did  not  let  him  go  unpunished. 

He  thought  sometimes,  in  these  days,  of  the  peace- 
[211] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

f ul  home  life,  free  from  all  discord  and  wrangling,  that 
he  had  lost  with  Minnie.  He  knew  that  he  would 
never  have  tolerated  from  her  what  he  bore  from  Irene. 
Was  that  because  he  loved  Irene  so  much  more,  he 
wondered?  Or  because  he  knew  that  Irene,  being 
free,  could  leave  him  whenever  things  became  un- 
pleasant for  her. 

It  worried  him  deeply  to  learn  that  in  his  absence 
she  was  in  the  habit  of  shaking  and  slapping  the 
children  and  feeding  them  red  pepper.  He  and 
Minnie  had  never  resorted  to  such  methods. 

A  small  crisis  came  in  his  relation  with  her  when 
one  morning  he  found  in  his  mail  several  large  bills 
which  she  had  contracted  at  city  stores,  unknown  to 
him.  They  amounted  to  one  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars,  nearly  two  months'  salary. 

According  to  his  standards,  Irene  had  committed 
almost  a  criminal  breach  of  faith  in  having  run  him 
into  debt  without  his  knowledge  and  consent.  He 
had  been  giving  her  so  large  a  share  of  his  income 
lately  that  he  was  now  too  short  of  money  to  be  able 
to  pay  these  bills.  Being  firmly  resolved  not  to  draw 
upon  Minnie's  income,  he  was  forced  to  borrow  the 
amount  at  the  bank  at  six  per  cent,  interest. 

It  was  on  his  way  home  from  the  postoffice,  after 
having  mailed  the  checks  to  Irene's  creditors,  that 
he  wondered  how  he  ought  to  treat  this  painfully 
embarrassing  matter  with  her. 

"I  thought  I  was  giving  her  a-plenty  for  her 
clothes!  Why,  Minnie  never  spent  as  much  in  a 

[2121 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

whole  year  on  dress  as  what  Irene  spends  in  a  couple 
months  a'ready  and  Minnie  always  looked  awfully 
nice.  To  be  sure,  she  hadn't  Irene's  style" 

Yet  he  felt  vaguely  that  Minnie  had  had  a  style  in 
dress  as  individual,  as  characteristic  of  herself,  as  was 
Irene's — Minnie's  being  simple,  refined,  restful; 
Irene's  elaborate,  conspicuous,  alluring.  He  did  not, 
at  this  stage,  stop  to  ask  himself  which  of  the  two 
styles  he  preferred.  He  was  deeply  enamoured  of 
Irene;  of  Minnie  he  never  had  been. 

When  he  reached  home,  it  was  supper  time,  but 
Irene  was  not  in  the  kitchen  and  there  was  no  sign 
of  a  meal.  The  children,  their  faces  tear-stained  and 
forlorn,  their  clothes  soiled,  were  alone  in  the  kitchen. 
The  eager  joy  with  which  they  greeted  their  father 
was,  he  sadly  realized,  the  measure  of  the  desolation 
that  his  coming  dissipated. 

Sophie,  who  was  inclined  to  be  tragic  and  dramatic, 
pointed  to  a  pool  of  water  on  the  floor  near  an  empty 
tin  cup.  "Dat's  my  tears  dat  I  cried  tause  you 
didn't  turn,  Fader!" 

"Aunt  Iween  locks  up  all  our  toys  'cause  she  don't 
like  to  clear  'em  up — and  we  haven't  anyfing  to  play 
wif,"  complained  Jacky. 

"I  want  my  Teddy  bear!"  whimpered  Sophie. 

"Aunt  Iween  slapped  us  'cause  we  tried  to  bolt  in 
the  parlour  when  she  had  comp'ny,"  added  Jacky. 

" Company? "  repeated  John.     "  Who?  " 

"A  man.  We  heered  him,  but  we  didn't  saw  him," 
said  Sophie. 

[213] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"I  thinked  it  was  you,  Fader,  corned  home  from 
school,"  said  Jacky,  "and  that's  why  I  tried  to  bolt 
in;  but  Aunt  Iween  said  yes,  it  was  you,  but  she 
wanted  to  talk  wif  you  alone — so  she  frowed  me  and 
Sophie  out.  But  I  told  Sophie,  'It  ain't  my  Fader, 
he  don't  speak  in  that  woice.": 

"Is  the  man  there  now?"  asked  John. 

"No,  he  wented  away  just  before  you  corned  home. 
I  heered  Aunt  Iween  fru  the  keyhole  when  she  telled 
him  school  would  soon  leave  out  now  and  he  better 
get  a  move  on.  I  wisht,"  sighed  Jacky,  "that  Aunt 
Iween  would  get  a  move  on !  I'm  too  tired  of  her ! " 

The  wild  idea  occurred  to  John  that  perhaps 
Irene's  husband  was  not  dead,  but  in  hiding  from  the 
law;  that  perhaps  Hen  was  the  recipient  of  the  money 
which  she  was  all  the  time  extracting  from  him;  that 
that  was  why  she  had  to  run  up  a  charge  account  for 
the  clothes  she  wanted;  that  perhaps  she  actually 
loved  that  scamp,  Hen,  and  that  the  two  of  them 
were  working 

The  kitchen  door  leading  into  the  dining  room 
opened  and  Irene,  radiantly  handsome  hi  her  newest 
and  gayest  frock,  cut  very  low  at  the  throat,  came 
into  the  room. 

"Hello,  Johnny!  Back  a'ready?  I  guess  you'll 
have  to  make  supper  this  evening,  boysy.  I  ain't 
cookin'  in  this  here  frock — not  on  your  tin  type! 
And  I'm  too  darned  tired  to  cook,  anyhow.  Jacky ! " 
she  sharply  commanded,  "wipe  up  that  there  pool  of 
water!" 

[2141 


"I'm  too  darned  tired  to,"  Jacky  repeated  her  own 
words  in  such  an  exact  imitation  of  her  that  John 
grinned  involuntarily,  downhearted  though  he  felt. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to  play  with  water?"  de- 
manded Irene.  "Get  a  move  on  and  wipe  it  now,  I 
tell  you!" 

"I  didn't  play  wif  water,"  Jacky  replied  as  he 
obeyed.  "It's  Sophie's  tears  wot  she  cried  'cause 
that  man  in  the  parlour  wasn't  Fader." 

"John  Wimmer!"  cried  Irene  with  a  great  show  of 
indignation,  "the  way  you  leave  these  children  tell 
lies  all  the  time!  I'm  darned  if  I " 

"Irene!"  pleaded  John,  "I  wish  you'd  not  use 
such  words  before  the  children.  They're  picking 
them  up  from  you." 

He  rose  and  began  to  set  the  kitchen  table  for 
supper.  He  had  grown  almost  expert  at  the  job. 

Under  Minnie's  regime,  they  had  never  had  their 
meals  in  the  kitchen.  But  although  he  did  not  like 
it,  he  agreed  with  Irene  that  it  saved  work. 

"To  be  sure,  John,  if  you  think  I  poison  your 
children,"  she  retorted,  "I  can  easy  leave,  so  far 
forth  as  that  goes!  You  only  got  to  say  the  word, 
you  know.  But  I  must  say,  you've  left  things  go 
pretty  far  before  you  decided  I  ain't  good  enough  to 
associate  with  your  kids  yet!" 

"It's  only  that  I  don't  want  'em  to  get  in  the  way 
of  usin'  coarse  language,  Irene." 

"Coarse  language!  So  my  line  of  talk  ain't  re- 
fined enough  to  suit  you,  ain't  it?  Well,  then,  take 

[2151 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

your  children  somewheres  else!  7  won't  break  my 
heart!  I'd  be  wonderful  reconciled  to  the  blow  of 
losin'  'em!" 

"Who  was  your  wisitor  this  after?"  he  asked  her. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  know,  darling?"  she 
laughed  teasingly,  as  she  sat  down  comfortably  in  a 
big  rocker  by  the  window,  while  he  bustled  about, 
filling  the  teakettle  and  cutting  bread.  "You  see, 
John,  you  ain't  the  only  pebble  on  the  beach — I  got 
other  admarers!" 

"Oh,  have  you?"  said  John,  turning  his  back  to- 
ward her,  as  he  slammed  a  slice  of  ham  into  a  pan; 
he  did  not  want  her  to  see  the  flush  of  jealous  pain 
that  rose  to  his  forehead  at  her  words. 

"Sure  I  hare!     Why  not?" 

"Help  yourself.  But  have  your  bills  sent  to  them 
then!" 

He  glanced  at  her  over  his  shoulder  to  note  the 
effect  of  this  thrust. 

"Did  you  get  some  of  my  bills,  then,  beloved 
treasure?" 

" I  certainly  did  I" 

"Never  mind,  Johnny,"  she  said  caressingly,  "them 
won't  be  the  last  ones  you'll  get — blee'  me  I" 

"I  think  they  will"  said  John  grimly.  "I'm 
opposed  to  going  into  debt.  I  never  do  it.  I'm  not 
going  to  begin  now" 

"Then  drop  this  here  rotten  school  teaching  and 
get  a  man's  job!  Why,  there's  jobs  in  Harrisburg 
at  the  Capitol  I  know  of  where  you  can  graft  twicet 

[216] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

your  salary!  You're  acquainted  with  some  poli- 
ticianers — ask  'em  for  one  of  them  cinch  jobs!  I 
could  easy  work  it  for  you  if  you'd  gimme  the  dare 
to." 

"Teaching  seems  to  me  a  lot  more  of  a  man's  job 
than  stealing  off  of  taxpayers!" 

*'Och,  well,"  yawned  Irene,  "that  depends,  I 
guess,  on  how  a  body  looks  at  it." 

All  during  supper  he  noticed  how  unusually  flushed 
and  animated  she  was  and  he  wondered,  miserably, 
whether  her  mysterious  visitor  were  the  cause  of  her 
radiance. 

After  supper,  she  reseated  herself  in  the  rocker  by 
the  window.  "I  can't  work  in  this  here  frock,'* 
she  repeated. 

So  John  "redd  off"  the  table  and  washed  the 
dishes,  Jacky  drying  them  and  Sophie  putting  them 
away.  After  that,  he  took  the  children  up  to  bed. 

"I'm  dog-tired!"  he  groaned  when  at  last  he  and 
Irene  were  alone  in  the  sitting  room. 

He  meant  to  have  it  out  with  her  about  those 
bills.  His  opinion  of  her  behaviour  had  not  been 
modified  by  all  the  tiresome  domestic  work  he  had 
had  to  do  since  his  return  from  a  long  day  in  his 
schoolroom. 

But  what  was  his  astonishment  to  hear  her  say, 
before  he  could  broach  the  subject  of  the  bills,  "Now, 
Johnny,  sweetheart,  don't  look  like  a  Gloomy  Gus, 
for  I  want  to  talk  money!  Smile  and  look  pleasant! 
Ever  read  that  there  book  called  'Pollyanna?'  Better 

[2171 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

read  it — it'll  uplift  you  like  anything.  I  couldn't  go 
it  myself — too  soft!  Elinor  Glyn  for  mine,  if  I  got 
to  read  a  book!  Say,  Johnny,  I  got  to  have  some 
money!" 

"I  was  about  to  tell  you,  Irene,  that  after  this 
I'll  give  you  such  an  allowance — so  much  a  month  or 
week — as  much  as  I  can  spare — and  you'll  have  to 
keep  your  expenses  inside  that  allowance.  I  won't 
have  you  running  up  bills  against  me." 

"What'll  be  the  allowance?" 

"My  salary's  ninety  dollars  a  month.  I'll  give 
you  fifty.  It  ain't  enough,  I  know.  But  it's  more 
than  I'll  have  left  to  pay  for  our  food  and  for  all  my 
own  and  half  the  children's  expenses.  It's  the  best 
I  can  do,  Irene." 

"Fifty  a  month?  I  need  seventy-five  dollars  right 
now  to  pay  for  a  fur  coat  I  bought  (reduced  to  half 
price)  and  they  won't  gimme  the  coat  till  I  cough  up 
them  seventy-five." 

"I  will  give  you  fifty  dollars  a  month,"  repeated 
John. 

"You'll  have  to  find  seventy-five  dollars  for  me 
to-morrow — or  I'll  lose  that  there  coat — and  if  I  lose 
that  there  coat,  John  Wimmer,  you'll  know  it!" 

"I  paid  three  bills  for  you  to-day,  Irene,  to  the 
tune  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  My  salary  is 
ninety  dollars  a  month." 

"You  draw  one  hundred  dollars  every  month  from 
Doc  Maus's  estate  that's  by  rights  as  much  mine  as 
yourn ! " 

[218] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"  It's  neither  yours  nor  mine,  Irene.  It's  Minnie's. 
I  will  not  touch  it  except  for  her  and  the  children.  It 
costs  eighty  dollars  a  month  to  keep  Minnie  at  the 
sanitarium." 

"You  can  easy  borrow  the  seventy-five  for  my 
coat." 

"I  borrowed  the  one  hundred  and  fifty  for  those 
bills  to-day.  Understand  me,  Irene,"  he  said  in  a 
tone  of  ominous  quiet,  "I  will  not  go  into  debt  any 
deeper." 

"Now  look-a-here,  John  Wimmer!"  cried  Irene 
shrilly,  "I'll  do  something  desp'rate  if  I'm  provoked 
too  hard !  The  idea  of  making  all  this  here  wild  rum- 
pus about  seventy-five  dollars  and  raising  the  rooft 
and  stamping  round  here  like  a  wild  hyena  and — 

"Please,  Irene,  you'll  wake  the  children!" 

"Damn  the  children!  I  tell  you  you'll  have  to  get 
me  that  there  seventy -five  dollars!" 

"You  don't  seem  to  stop  to  think,  Irene,  how  hard 
I  have  to  work  for  seventy-five  dollars." 

"I  know  how  hard  I'm  workin'  for  it  just  now! 
I'm  workin'  my  throat  raw!  Are  you  a-goin*  to 
find  me  that  there  money?"  she  demanded. 

"I  am  not,  my  dear." 

"If  you'd  see  how  lovely  that  there  coat  becomes 
me,  Johnny!"  she  tried  wheedling.  "It  would  melt 
your  heart!  For  that  you're  not  got  a  hard  heart  and 
that  you  are  awful  fond  for  me,  I  know — no  matter 
how  much,"  she  tearfully  added,  "your  sister  Jen 
wants  to  say  you  don't  really  love  me  and  that  I'm  a 

[219] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

burden  to  you  and  that  I'm  ruinin'  your  noble 
chark'ter  and  that  I  ain't  nice  enough  educated  for 
you.  I  near  cry  my  little  heart  out  the  way  Jen 
talks  to  me,  Johnny!"  She  nestled  to  his  side 
caressingly.  "You  won't  leave  'em  'buse  your  little 
sweetheart,  will  you,  honey -bug?" 

"Don't  be  a  damn  fool,  Irene." 

"Well,  John  Wimmer!"  she  snapped  back,  sitting 
erect,  "do  you  think  I  enjoy  working  the  tremulo 
record  till  it  near  cracks?  I  don't  like  slavin'  like  a 
dog  this  way  for  every  dollar  I  need!  If  you  was 
half  a  man,  you'd  see  to  it  that  I  didn't  have  to." 

They  were  interrupted  by  a  loud  knock  at  the  front 
door.  No  one  in  Hessville  ever  called  as  late  as  this 
— it  was  half -past  nine  o'clock.  Every  drop  of  colour 
left  John's  face. 

"Minnie!"  he  gasped.     "News  from  Minnie!" 

Irene  sprang  up  to  answer  the  knock,  but  he 
stopped  her.  "I'll  go." 

"A  telegram!"  excitedly  announced  the  .only 
operator  of  Hessville,  who  always  delivered  in  per- 
son the  few  telegraph  messages  that  ever  came  for 
residents  of  the  village.  "Return  answer  requested." 

John  tore  open  the  envelope  with  trembling  fingers. 

Recent  manifestations  indicate  that  immediate 
though  very  dangerous  operation  may  lead  to  wife's 
recovery.  Great  risk,  but  only  chance  of  complete 
recovery.  Wire  us  authority  to  operate.  Answer  pre- 
paid. / 

Doctors  MANNING  and  SHERWIN. 

[220] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  JOHN  had  been  obliged  to  send  an   im- 
mediate reply  to  the  telegram,  he  had  been 
able   to   consider   only  two   alternatives — 
Minnie's  permanent  blankness,  on  the  one  hand;  her 
recovery  or  death,  on  the  other.     Of  course  he  had 
not  hesitated.     Better  death  than  her  present  con- 
dition.    So  he  had  wired,  "Operate" — and  had  felt, 
as  he  put  his  name  to  the  telegram,  as  though  he  were 
signing  his  wife's  death  warrant. 

He  would  have  taken  the  midnight  train  for 
Philadelphia,  but  that  he  must  find  a  substitute  for 
his  school  and  then  take  the  children  to  the  farm  and 
leave  them  with  his  mother  and  sisters.  His  father 
would,  of  course,  object,  because  the  "women  folks*' 
wasted  tune  when  John's  idolized  children  were  there. 
Indeed  the  harsh  and  selfish  old  man  was  not  above 
squandering  some  attention  himself  upon  his  only 
grandson,  whom  he  secretly  considered  the  "smart- 
est" child  that  had  ever  been  born.  But  he  went 
far  out  of  his  way  to  hide  this  softness  and  (as  he 
thought  it)  weakness  from  his  son.  To  cover  his 
own  real  pleasure  at  having  the  children  at  the  farm, 
he  grumbled  whenever  they  came,  at  the  work  they 
made  and  the  tune  they  consumed. 

[221] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

John,  however,  found  himself  unwilling  to  leave 
Jacky  and  Sophie  alone  with  Irene  while  he  was  in 
Philadelphia.  "If  they  fall  sick  whiles  I'm  off,  they 
must  be  with  someone  that'll  care,"  he  decided. 

He  hardly  knew  whether  he  felt  more  relieved  or 
disappointed  at  Irene's  manifesting  no  signs  of  being 
hurt  when  he  told  her  that  he  would  not  leave  the 
children  with  her  during  his  absence.  He  did  not  yet 
understand  her  well  enough  to  know  that  she  would 
have  been  much  more  annoyed  at  having  them  on  her 
hands. 

Irene,  left  alone  in  the  house  for  at  least  a  few  days 
and  perhaps  longer,  had  time  to  reflect  upon  some 
phases  of  the  situation  now  confronting  her  and 
John  which,  in  the  confusing  rush  of  events,  they  had 
not  stopped  to  consider  She  wondered  whether 
John,  too,  during  his  separation  from  her,  was  facing 
and  wrestling  with  all  the  possibilities  inherent  in 
their  precarious  relation. 

Should  Minnie  die  (as  she  probably  would)  John 
would  be  free! — and  rich!  Would  he  want  to  marry 
her?  She'd  see  that  he  did  !  It  wouldn't  be  dif- 
ficult. He  was  so  ridiculously  conscientious  that, 
whatever  his  wishes,  he  would  think  it  his  duty. 
However,  she  was  pretty  sure  that  he  would  wish  to 
bind  her  legally.  He  was  crazy  about  her,  simply 
crazy.  Other  men  had  been  "gone  on"  her,  but  not 
one  of  them  so  "clean  gone"  as  John  still  was. 

Nevertheless,  when  you  stopped  to  consider  how 
greatly  he  disapproved  of  her  handling  of  his  absurdly 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

idolized  children — maybe  he  would  balk  at  marriage 
after  all.  But  who  ever  heard  of  a  man  that  put  his 
children  before  his  passion?  It  was  surely  foolish 
to  fear  that  if  he  wanted  her  very  much,  he  would  let 
himself  be  foiled  by  a  trifle  like  that! 

"He's  a  man!— nuff  said!"  she  decided.  "All  the 
same,  I  got  to  go  easy  with  them  kids  now  that  things 
has  come  to  a  crisis!  I  got  to  play  the  soft-soapy 
game  of  a  lovin'  mother  to  'em!  Ain't  it  a  mess? 
It  sure  won't  come  easy  to  me!  But  sooner'n  lose 
that  there  fortune  of  Min's,  I  guess  I  can  stick  it  out 
till  I'm  anyhow  married  oncet  to  John.  Then  watch 
me  make  them  brats  stand  round  and  do  what  I  tell 
'em  to !  I  won't  spoil  'em  any — not  that  you'd  notice 
it !  And  I'll  see  to  it  that  their  pop  don't  neither ! " 

But  if  Minnie,  contrary  to  all  expectations  and 
probabilities,  got  well?  What,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, would  John  expect  to  do  about  it? 
"Turn  me  out  and  bring  back  his  wife,  I  guess! 
Well,  he'll  find  out  I  ain't  that  easy  disposed  of!" 

Was  John,  also,  she  wondered,  realizing  all  these 
complications  of  their  situation?  Did  he  hope  that 
the  outcome  of  the  operation  would  be  his  freedom  to 
marry  her?  He  had  not  hesitated  an  instant  over 
his  answer  to  that  telegram.  Did  his  prompt  con- 
sent to  the  dangerous  operation  mean  that  he  cared 
more,  or  less,  for  his  wife  than  for  his  mistress? 

"He  shan't  have  her  back!"  Irene  hotly  resolved. 
"I'll  blab  the  whole  thing  to  her  and  she'll  divorce 
him!" 

[223] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Ah,  but  if  Minnie  divorced  him,  her  fortune  would 
go  with  her,  and  John  without  that  fortune  wouldn't 
be  worth  having! 

"He  could  easy  work  it  so's  he  could  get  that  there 
money  in  his  own  hands,  if  only  he  would.  Then 
Min  could  get  her  old  divorce  if  she  wanted  to  and 
he  needn't  give  a  damn!  But  he's  so  darned  pertikler! 
It'll  take  awful  hard  work  to  make  him  touch  her 
money." 

She  thought  of  a  strong  argument  she  could  ad- 
vance that  might  perhaps  weaken  his  scruples.  "He 
can't  deny  that  one  half  of  that  there  fortune  was 
cheated  off  of  Hen.  So  I  got  more  right  to  that  there 
half  than  Min  has.  He  can't  deny  it.  So  I'll  any- 
how try  that  there  argiment." 

If  it  failed? 

"All  right,  then  John'll  lose  us  both!  Min'll 
divorce  him  and  I'll  jilt  him ! — the  way  he  jilted  me 
oncet.  Min'll  take  the  kids  and  her  money  and  he 
won't  have  nothing  left — wife,  kids,  home,  money — 
and  serve  him  right ! " 

Irene  knew  that  in  case  of  the  failure  of  her 
scheme  to  marry  John  with  his  money,  she  would  find 
much  solace  in  the  delectable  sight  of  Minnie's 
chagrin  and  jealous  rage  upon  hearing  of  her  hus- 
band's love  for  another  woman. 

"I'll  anyhow  have  that  out  of  it!"  she  thought. 

A  few  months  ago,  when  she  had  first  come  into 
John's  home,  she  had  found  him  prematurely  old, 
careworn,  sad,  and  listless.  Her  coming  had  seemed 

[224] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

to  restore  his  youth.  He  had  become  vigorous  and 
active;  he  had  not  only  grown  cheerful,  but,  in 
spite  of  many  worries,  almost  gay. 

But  on  his  return  from  Philadelphia,  three  days 
after  the  receipt  of  the  startling  telegram,  all  that  he 
had  recently  gained  seemed  to  have  dropped  away 
from  him.  He  was  grim  and  haggard.  There  was 
tragedy  in  his  face,  agony  in  the  strained  expression 
of  his  eyes. 

Though  the  doctors  called  the  operation  successful 
he  told  Irene,  they  were  not  sure  Minnie  would  live; 
hardly  thought  she  would;  John  himself  was  sure  she 
would  not. 

"  She  looks  awful !  I  wouldn't  know  her !  She's  a 
skeleton  covered  with  skin!  She's  shrivelled  and 
gray  in  the  face !  Her  hair's  shaved  off!  I  wouldn't 
know  her!" 

He  shuddered  as  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"How  long  do  them  doctors  say  it  will  go  till  they 
know  oncet  if  she'll  get  well — or  not?"  asked  Irene, 
trying  to  cover  her  own  eagerness  under  a  tone  of 
sympathy. 

"  They  say  she  may  linger  on  a  while  yet — or  pick 
up.  She's  so  weak,  she  might  die  any  minute. 
I'm  not  to  come  again  unless  they  send  for  me — the 
sudden  shock  of  recognizing  me  (for  they  insist  her 
mind'll  be  all  right  now,  if  she  lives)  might  kill  her. 
So  I'm  to  keep  away  till  they  think  it's  safe  already." 

He  did  not  see  the  gleam  that  shot  from  Irene's  eyes 
at  these  words. 

[225] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Just  seem'  you  might — might  kill  her?  Did  they 
say  that?"  she  asked  breathlessly. 

John  nodded  dumbly. 

Irene  turned  away  for  a  moment  to  fuss  at  the 
stove.  "That,"  she  said  to  herself,  her  heart 
throbbing  thickly,  "might  be  a  way  out!  I  could 
fake  a  telegram  from  the  doctors  telling  him  to 
come " 

In  the  weary  days  of  waiting  that  followed,  John 
was  touched  by  Irene's  changed  demeanour — her 
gentle  patience  with  the  children,  her  unobtrusive 
sympathy  for  his  trouble  and  anxiety,  her  unwonted 
attention  to  his  comfort,  her  kindness  and  considera- 
tion. It  went  far  toward  bringing  him  round, 
soothing  his  horrible  nervousness,  reestablishing  his 
faith  in  her,  restoring  his  comfort  in  his  home. 

Yes,  Irene  acted  well  her  part  and  was  even  more 
successful  than  she  herself  realized.  For  what  John 
was  really  thinking  and  feeling  during  these  days,  she 
could  not  guess. 

The  fact  was  he  did  not  understand  himself.  He 
had  hours  of  acutest  torture  in  which  his  burning 
passion  for  Irene  warred  with  his  loyalty  and  deep 
affection  for  his  wife;  hours  when  he  loathed  himself; 
others  when  he  abandoned  himself  absolutely  to  the 
lure  of  Irene;  times  when  he  was  ready  to  sacrifice 
the  rest  of  his  life  to  make  amends  to  Minnie  for  what 
she  was  suffering;  days  when  he  could  not  see  an  inch 
ahead;  when  he  could  only  passively  await  the  out- 
come and  let  things  happen  as  they  would.  Of  one 

[2261 


thing,  however,  he  felt  sure — gentle  though  Minnie 
was,  she  would  never  forgive  his  disloyalty,  should 
she  recover. 

Meantime,  Irene  was  finding  her  virtuous  role  an 
almost  intolerable  strain  upon  her  patience,  her  self- 
control,  her  life-long  habit  of  self-indulgence.  After 
a  few  weeks  of  quite  exemplary  behaviour,  she 
realized  that  if  she  were  going  to  keep  it  up,  if  she 
were  not  going  to  collapse  hysterically  and  "raise 
hell,"  she  would  have  to  have  a  respite. 

"I'll  say  I  got  to  go  to  Lancaster  for  a  day  and 
then  I  can  run  on  to  Phildelphy  and  send  him  that 
there  fake  telegram,"  she  decided  one  day  when  she 
felt  she  could  not  hold  out  any  longer. 

So  that  evening,  as  John  sat  reading  in  the  sitting 
room,  after  the  children  had  been  put  to  bed,  she 
came  and  sat  on  the  side  of  his  chair. 

"Reading  something  interesting?"  she  asked  as 
she  clasped  his  wrist  and  tilted  his  book  to  see  the 
title;  "'Literary  History  of  India,'  by  R.  W.  Frazer, 
LL.  B.,  Lecturer  in  Telugu  and  Tamil  at  University 
College  and  the  Imperial — holy  cats!"  she  broke 
off.  "If  that's  what  a  Normal  school  and  a  grand 
education  does  to  a  fellah,  gimme  Ignorance. 
Honestly,  Johnny,  what  do  you  see  in  a  book  like 
that?  I'd  have  the  woolies  if  I  had  to  wade  through 
such  dry  punk!  The  only  kind  of  a  book  I  like  to 
read  is  a  silly  book — the  sillier  the  better  for  little 
Reeny!"  she  laughed  as  she  ran  her  fingers  through 
his  hair. 

[2271 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  hypnotized  by  the 
touch  of  her  soft  hand. 

"Beloved  treasure,  I  got  to  go  to  Lancaster  to- 
morrow." 

"What  for,  dear?" 

"I  got  to  see  a  doctor." 

John  started.  "A  doctor?  Good  God,  Irene,  you 
don't  mean " 

"A  baby?"  she  asked.  She  had  not  thought  of 
that.  She  quickly  turned  it  over  in  her  mind — it 
might  work  better  than  her  own  idea.  Could  she 
risk  such  a  bluff — with  John  as  experienced  as  he  was 
(the  father  of  two  living  and  one  dead)  and  she  her- 
self so  altogether  inexperienced?  No,  she  probably 
knew  too  little  about  it  to  deceive  him. 

"No,  John,  dear,  that  ain't  it — you  may  thank  your 
lucky  stars!  I  got  to  see  a  doctor  about  my  throat — 
something  the  matter  with  the  sarcophagus." 

"The  what?" 

"The  sarcophagus,"  Irene  firmly  repeated. 

"A  sarcophagus  is  a  coffin,"  said  John  stolidly. 

"It  is,  is  it?  Well,  then,  what  is  this  here  bloomin* 
thing  in  your  throat  that  gets  on  the  blink?" 

"I  suppose  you  mean  the  oesophagus.  What's 
wrong  with  it?" 

"Germs.  It's  got  to  be  sprayed.  Can  you  leave 
me  have  the  price?" 

"I  hope  so.     How  much?" 

"The  specialist  I  want  to  go  to  charges  twenty-five 
dollars  per,  dearie." 

[228] 


'  THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE] 

John  sighed.  "Minnie's  operation,'*  he  began, 
but  checked  himself. 

"Well,  to  be  sure,  Johnny,  this  here  thing  of 
havin'  a  harem  full  of  wives  ain't  cheap!  You  can't 
expect  it!" 

"I'll  try  to  raise  the  money  for  you,  Irene,'*  he 
responded,  trying  not  to  speak  despondently.  "You 
know  I'd  love  to  give  you  all  you  want  if  I  only  had 
it." 

"You're  got  it  if  you'd  only  take  it!"  she  retorted. 

But  John  would  not  reopen  that  argument. 
Irene's  efforts  to  prove  to  him  that  she  was  morally 
entitled  to  at  least  Henry's  share  of  Doctor  Maus's 
estate  had  thus  far  left  him  quite  unconvinced. 

"Will  you  wait,  Irene,  till  day  after  to  morrow  to 
go  to  the  city?"  he  hastily  veered  away  from  the 
unpleasant  topic  of  the  Maus  estate.  "That'll  give 
me  more  time  to  get  you  the  money.  I  ain't  got  it, 
you  know.  My  salary's  always  spent  already  before 
I  get  it.  I'll  have  to  borrow  it  for  you  from  the  bank. " 

"Why  don't  you  borrow  the  loan  of  some  money 
off  of  Minnie?  You  wouldn't  anyhow  have  to  pay 
her  int'rust." 

John  winced.  Of  late,  in  the  financial  stress  of  his 
heavy  expenses,  he  had  been  sorely  tempted  to  do  that 
very  thing.  But  as  yet  he  had  not  yielded. 

"I  don't  want  to  do  that!"  he  said  heavily. 

"Minnie  must  always  have  been  awful  tight  with 
her  old  money,  to  make  you  so  pertikler  about 
touching  a  penny  of  it ! " 

[229] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"She  leaves  the  management  of  her  money  so 
entirely  to  me,  Irene,  that — don't  you  see? — that 
makes  me  feel  more  conscientious  about  taking  good 
care  of  it  than  if  she  hadn't  always  trusted  me  so." 

"Makes  you  feel  conscientious — och!  You  sound 
like  President  Wilson's  speeches  yet!  I  wish't,"  she 
suddenly  exclaimed,  "you  was  more  like  Hen!" 

"Wish  I  was  like  Hen!     You  can't  mean  that!" 

"I  mean,"  she  hastened  to  add,  "so's  you  didn't 
take  things  so  hard.  To  be  sure  you're  an  awful 
hon'rable  man  toward  what  Hen  was,  but  you  do 
give  yourself  so  much  worry!" 

"I  don't  give  it  to  myself — you  give  it  to  me," 
smiled  John. 

"I  know  I'm  an  expensive  luxury,"  she  retorted. 
"Most  good  things  do  come  high,  you  know, 
Johnny." 

"Yes,"  he  returned,  kissing  her  hand,  "and  I'm 
paying  a  lot  all  right!" 

"Not  more'n  I'm  worth — ain't?"  she  demanded 
playfully. 

"We  don't  measure  human  worth  in  terms  of 
dollars,"  responded  the  schoolmaster. 

"Don't  we!"  cried  Irene  mockingly.  "What  do 
we  mean,  then,  when  we  say,  'So  and  so  is  worth 
thirty  thousand  dollars' — heh?" 

"The  good  and  great  men  of  history,  Irene,  have 
never  been  the  richest  men." 

"I  don't  know  nothin'  about  history.  And  I  ain't 
acquainted  with  any  'good'  men,  are  you,  Johnny? 

[230] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

But  I  do  know  that  the  only  people  that  has  any 
power  about  here  is  rich  people.  You  don't  hear  any 
one  askin'  of  a  man,  'How  good  is  he?' — but,  'How 
much  has  he  got?" 

"It's  all  wrong  that  we're  so  sordid  in  America. 
Our  ideals  are  too  materialistic;  our — 

"Now,  Johnny,  now!  Come  off  your  perch! 
Talk  that  highbrow  stuff,  and  I'll  get  sleepy!  I 
ain't  Min,  you  know." 

John  repressed  a  sigh.  He  still  missed  greatly  the 
"intellectual  conversations,"  the  earnest  exchange  of 
ideas,  which  he  and  Minnie  used  to  enjoy. 

The  next  day  after  dinner,  at  the  noon  recess, 
John,  before  returning  to  his  school,  forced  himself  to 
the  hateful  ordeal  of  trying  to  raise  some  money  for 
Irene.  But  when  he  went  to  the  bank  to  draw  what 
little  he  had  deposited  there,  he  made  a  discovery 
that  gave  him  a  shock. 

"Your  money's  all.  You  ain't  got  a  dollar  in,"  the 
clerk  informed  him  when  he  presented  a  check  for 
fifteen  dollars,  the  amount  he  supposed  he  had  to  his 
account. 

"All!  Why,  I  never  before  miscounted  like  that! 
I  thought  I  had  yet  fifteen  dollars  in." 

"You  did  have  till  a  couple  days  back.  But 
Missus  she  drawed  it  out  yet." 

"Missus?" 

"I  don't  mean  your  Missus.  Hen  Maus's  widdah 
woman.  Her." 

"But  I — I  didn't  give  her — och,  yes" — John, 
[231] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSV1LLE 

who  had  turned  white,  caught  himself  up — "I 
remember  now  I  did  give  her  a  check  for  the 
amount." 

"I  thought  at  the  time  it  didn't  look  near  like  your 
penmanship.  But  seein'  she's  keepin'  your  house 
and  is  your  sister-in-law,  I  thought,  too,  again,  it 
must  be  all  right." 

"It  is  all  right,"  John  smiled  in  a  sickly  way  as  he 
turned  to  leave  the  bank. 

He  was  uncomfortably  conscious  all  that  after- 
noon in  school  that  his  work  was  being  done  badly; 
that  sometimes  he  hardly  knew  what  he  was  doing  or 
saying. 

His  pupils,  of  course,  noticed  his  inattention  and 
depression  and  that  evening  on  their  return  from 
school,  reported  to  their  parents,  "Teacher's  Missus 
must  be  took  worse — he  acted  so  dumb  and  doplig!" 

John,  on  his  way  home,  wondered  how  he  should 
broach  this  matter  of  the  forged  check  to  Irene. 
Forgery!  She  could  not  possibly  realize  the  gravity 
of  what  she  had  done.  He  would  have  to  try  to 
make  her  understand.  It  was  not  the  loss  of  the 
money,  but  the  duplicity,  the  dishonesty;  his  not 
being  aware  of  how  he  stood  financially ;  being  bank- 
rupt and  not  knowing  it. 

In  some  respects  Irene  seemed  so  "dumb" — 
would  he  succeed  in  convincing  her  that  such  things 
as  this  she  must  not  do? 

A  sickening  weariness  came  over  him  at  the 
prospect  of  the  struggle.  He  detested  controversy. 

[232] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

He  loathed  the  money  discussions  in  which  he  and 
Irene  seemed  constantly  to  fall.  It  was  debasing! 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  found  himself,  to- 
day, feeling  glad  that  the  children  were  not  at  home. 
His  sister  Jennie  had  taken  them  to  the  farm  this 
afternoon  because  Irene  was  to  go  to  town  early  the 
next  morning. 

As  he  neared  his  own  home,  his  heart  grew  more 
and  more  heavy.  He  felt  as  cowardly  an  inclination 
to  run  away  as  though  he,  instead  of  Irene,  were  the 
guilty  one. 

When  he  was  about  a  block  from  home,  he  saw 
something  which  gave  him  another  shock.  The  long, 
empty  street  of  the  village  opened  a  clear  view,  at  the 
distance  of  a  block,  of  his  own  gate  and  porch.  A 
man,  dressed  in  clothes  of  city,  not  Hessville,  style, 
stepped  out  of  the  front  door  and  coming  down  to  the 
pavement,  turned  toward  the  end  of  the  street  from 
which  John  was  approaching;  but  seeing  John,  he 
instantly  wheeled  about  and  walked  away  in  the 
opposite  direction — which  would  take  him,  not  into 
the  heart  of  the  village,  but  out  into  the  country. 

"Trying  to  avoid  me?"  wondered  John. 

He  noticed  just  one  conspicuous  detail  of  the 
man's  spruce  attire — a  green  felt  hat.  He  speculated, 
as  he  hurried  home,  whether  this  could  possibly  be  the 
same  man  whose  visit  to  Irene,  some  weeks  previous, 
the  children  had  betrayed  to  him;  whose  name  or 
business  she  had  refused  to  tell  him. 

The  man  seemed  in  a  hurry  and  by  the  time  John 
[2331 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVTLLE 

was  at  his  own  gate,  the  green  felt  hat  was  far  up  the 
street. 

He  found  Irene  in  the  parlour,  dressed  out  in  her 
gayest  frock. 

"Who  was  that  man?  "  he  at  once  curtly  demanded. 

"What  man,  Johnny?"  she  innocently  asked. 

"  The  *man  that  just  left  here.     Who  was  he?  " 

"I  didn't  see  no  man " 

"The  man  who  wore  a  green  felt  hat.  Who  was 
he?" 

"Oh,  him!     Did  you  meet  each  other?" 

"I  saw  him  leave  this  house.  What  was  he  doing 
here?  Who  was  he?" 

"  Z  don't  know  him.     He's  such  a  travelling  agent." 

"What  did  he  have  to  sell?" 

"A  new  kind  of  a  carpet  sweeper." 

"He  wasn't  carrying  anything." 

"He  had  pikturs  of  it." 

"Why  are  you  all  dressed  up?" 

"For  you,  beloved  treasure!" 

"I'd  sooner  you  had  on  a  dress  you  could  cook  in! 
I'm  tired  and  empty." 

"All  right,  I'll  go  up  and  change.  You  needn't 
have  so  jealous  of  a  old  book-agent,  Johnny  dearie ! " 

"Book-agent!     You  said  a  carpet  sweeper!" 

"Z  don't  know  what  he  was  sellin'!  I  toF  him  he 
needn't  waste  his  wind,  for  I  hadn't  no  money.  So 
he  beat  it." 

"What  do  you  do  with  all  my  money?  What  did 
you  do  with  the  fifteen  dollars  that  I  had  in  the 

[234] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

bank  that  you  forged  off  of  me!  Don't  you  know  you 
could  be  sent  to  the  penitentiary  for  forging  my 
name?  Do  you  know  that?  What  you  have  done 
makes  you  a  criminal!91 

"Flatterer!'  she  slapped  at  him  coquettishly. 
"*Och,  don't  go  and  have  a  stroke  of  apoplexy  over  it, 
Johnny.  Take  Hood's  Sarsaparilla ! " 

"You  can't  do  this  kind  of  thing,  Irene!  I've  got 
to  know  "where  I  stand  financially — I— 

"Well,  John,  this  here  ought  to  be  a  lesson  to 
you!"  she  admonished  him  in  a  tone  of  virtuous 
disapproval.  "I  hope  this'll  learn  you  to  gimme 
enough  money  so  I  don't  have  to  commit  crimes  to 
get  what  I  need !" 

''Have  you  no  sense  of  shame,  Irene?" 

"Sure  I  have!  I'd  be  awful  ashamed  to  be  as 
tight  as  what  you  are,  John  Wimmer !  I  sure  would ! 
Do  you  s'pose  I'd  forge  a  check  if  I  wasn't  drove  to 
it?  Sure  I  wouldn't!  I  don't  enjoy  doin'  it!  It 
makes  me  awful  nervous!" 

"Irene!  If  ever  again  you  forge  my  name,  I'll 
warn  the  bank — 

"Don't  be  a  nut,  John!  To  be  sure,  I  can't  work 
that  game  no  more!  I  ain't  such  a  bonehead  as  to 
try  to  work  off  a  trick  on  you  after  you'd  found  it 
out!  Don't  be  so  dumb!" 

"For  God's  sake,  Irene -" 

"Don't  take  Gawd's  name  in  wain!"  she  gravely 
reproved  him  "Now,"  she  said  conclusively,  "I  got 
to  get  a  move  on  and  change  my  dress." 

[235] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

She  danced  out  of  the  room  singing. 

John  sank  heavily  into  a  chair  by  the  window.  It 
was  hopeless.  He  could  not  make  any  impression 
upon  her.  What  should  he  do?  Wearily  he  leaned 
his  head  on  his  hand,  and  in  doing  so,  his  arm  came  in 
contact  with  two  letters  in  his  coat  pocket  which  he 
had  taken  from  his  postoffice  box  on  his  way  home 
from  school.  He  had  not  yet  even  glanced  at  them 
so  distracted  had  he  been  over  the  discovery  of  the 
forgery. 

Mechanically,  now,  he  drew  them  from  his  pocket. 
"The  same  old  news  from  the  hospital,  I  guess,"  he 
said  to  himself — the  bi-weekly  report  from  the 
doctors  invariably  being  that  there  was  no  change  as 
yet  in  his  wife's  condition. 

Yes,  here  was  the  familiar  printed  address  in  the 
corner  of  the  envelope.  He  tore  it  open.  It  was,  as 
usual,  typewritten  and  marked  "Dictated."  It 
was  not,  however,  the  customary  brief  few  lines,  but 
a  long  letter.  And  the  name  at  the  end — not  that  of 
the  doctor!  The  name!  John's  head  swam,  his 
vision  was  blurred.  He  steadied  himself  and  looked 
again.  "Minnie." 

He  trembled  so  that  the  letter  shook  in  his  fingers. 
A  letter  from  Minnie  herself!  A  voice  from  the 
grave!  Minnie  speaking  to  him  after  all  these 
months  of  silence! 

He  rose,  and  going  into  the  seldom  used  parlour,  he 
locked  the  door — to  be  alone  with  his  letter;  alone  for 
a  few  moments  with  Minnie,  his  wife. 

[236] 


CHAPTER  XVin 

JOHN,  MY  DEAR: 

The  nurse  is  writing  this  for  me,  I'm  too  weak  to  write 
myself.  She  says  I  darsent  make  it  long.  It  seems  as  if  I 
had  been  away  in  a  far  off  country  where  I  didn't  even 
know  you  and  Jacky  and  Sophie.  I  don't  know  anything 
about  being  sick  so  long.  I'm  very  comfortable  and 
contented  now.  It  surprises  me  that  I  don't  fret  for  you 
and  the  children.  The  nurse  says  I'm  too  weak  to.  The 
doctor  says  you  can't  come  to  see  me  yet  awhile — not  till 
he's  sure  I'm  strong  enough  to  stand  it.  I  feel  so  weak, 
I  seem  to  shrink  from  seeing  you  yet.  Isn't  that  queer? 
You  seem  so  far  away — you  and  the  children — as  if  I 
would  have  to  take  a  long,  hard  journey  to  reach  you. 

Your  loving 

MINNIE. 

The  next  few  lines  were  from  the  nurse — 

This  is  as  far  as  your  wife  was  able  to  dictate.  She  is  so 
weak  that  the  slightest  thing  might  turn  the  balance 
against  her.  We  have  hopes,  now,  for  her  complete  re- 
covery if  she  is  kept  absolutely  quiet.  You  can  write  to 
her,  but  the  doctor  thinks  it  will  be  a  month  or  more  before 
she  can  be  visited. 

Very  truly  yours, 

GRACE  KENTNQR. 
[237] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

The  rush  of  joy  that  surged  up  in  John's  heart  at 
the  sound,  as  it  were,  of  Minnie's  own  voice  from  out 
the  long,  blank  stillness — at  this  sudden,  unexpected 
restoring  of  the  broken  current  of  their  joint  life — 
was  a  revelation  to  him  of  the  depth  and  the  vitality 
of  his  union  with  her.  He  felt  like  flying  to  meet  the 
happiness  of  that  reunion.  The  weeks  of  patient 
waiting  before  he  could  realize  it  in  its  fulness  and 
completeness  seemed  unbearable.  His  mind  re- 
fused to  consider,  now,  the  impassable  barrier  to  her 
return  that  existed  in  his  home.  At  this  touch  of 
Minnie's  very  self,  he  knew,  from  the  deep  delight  it 
gave  him,  how  hungry  he  had  been  for  his  companion, 
his  mate,  the  dear  creator  of  his  home.  With  an 
overmastering  eagerness  to  talk  to  her  at  once,  to 
pour  out  his  heart  to  her,  he  sat  down  before  the 
little  walnut  desk  in  the  parlour  (he  had  given  her 
this  desk  on  her  last  birthday),  seized  tablet  and 
pencil  and  began  to  write  to  her.  So  many  things 
crowded  upon  his  mind  to  say  to  her — the  accumula- 
tion of  all  these  months  of  separation — he  felt  that  he 
would  like  to  sit  there  and  write  all  night  long. 

"But  I  must  go  slowly  or  I'll  overtax  her  strength," 
he  checked  himself.  He  felt  as  tenderly  toward  her 
precarious  weakness  as  he  had  been  wont  to  feel 
toward  the  appealing  helplessness  of  his  infants. 

When  presently,  as  his  pen  was  flying  back  and 
forth  across  the  tablet,  Irene  called  him  to  supper,  he 
felt  an  irritability  at  being  interrupted  that  was  not  at 
all  characteristic  of  him. 

[238] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Immediately  after  supper,  the  children  not  being 
at  home  to  require  his  attention,  he  returned  to  his 
fascinating  task.  He  had  not  enjoyed  anything  in  a 
long  while  as  he  was  enjoying  this  communion,  on 
paper,  with  his  wife. 

It  was  an  especial  luxury  to  be  able  to  talk  freely 
about  the  children  to  one  who  was  as  interested  in 
them  as  he  was  himself. 

You'll  be  glad  to  know,  my  dear,  that  the  babies  grow 
prettier  and  sweeter  and  smarter  every  day.  The  dignity 
that  Jacky  put  on,  on  his  sixth  birthday — you'd  have 
thought  he  had  come  of  age !  The  other  day  I  told  him  he 
darsen't  say  he  "ketched"  the  ball — so  after  while  he  said 
to  me,  "Here,  Fader,  caught  it!"  He  had  the  toothache 
one  day  and  some  fever  with  it  and  he  said  to  me,  "It's 
very  painful,  Fader — much  more  painful  than  just  a  pain." 
And  he  told  the  doctor,  "Hot  air  comes  out  of  me!" 
The  Doc  told  him  he  wasn't  the  only  person  hot  air  came 
out  of!  Sophie  gets  to  look  more  and  more  like  you.  I 
often  have  to  just  sit  and  look  at  her — so  much  like  you  she 
grows.  The  way  those  children  miss  you,  dear !  Oh,  my 
dear,  my  dear,  when  once  I  have 

The  turning  of  the  door  knob  interrupted  him,  and 
Irene's  voice  demanded,  "What  you  got  the  door 
locked  for?  Leave  me  in!" 

He  rose  reluctantly,  and  after  an  instant's  hesita- 
tion, he  thrust  the  unfinished  letter  into  a  drawer, 
locked  it,  and  put  the  key  into  his  pocket. 

"What're  you  doin'  all  alone  hi  here  anyhow?" 
[239] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

cried  Irene  as  he  opened  the  door  to  her.     "And  with 
the  door  locked  yet!" 

"I  was  writing,"  he  briefly  answered. 

"Why  do  you  have  to  lock  the  door  fur  just  to 
write?"  she  asked  suspiciously. 

"To  be  alone  and  quiet." 

"Huh!"  she  commented,  not  satisfied,  but  deterred 
by  John's  tone  and  manner  from  pursuing  her  in- 
quiry. 

For  the  rest  of  the  evening  she  found  him  strangely 
distracted;  at  times  quite  unaware  of  her;  at  others, 
short  with  her  as  he  had  never  been  before. 

"Now,  look-a-here,  John  Wimmer,"  she  presently 
demanded,  curiosity  getting  the  better  of  the  vague, 
uncomfortable  awe  whick  his  manner  invoked, 
'''what's  happened?  What's  the  matter  of  you? 
You're  actin'  awful  funny,  I  must  say!" 

"I've  been  thinking,  Irene,  what  a  mess  a  man  can 
make  ef  his  life  by  not  sticking  to  the  straight  and 
narrow  road!" 

"Your  life  wouldn't  need  to  be  such  a  mess  if  you 
wasn't  so  scared  to  touch  a  dollar  of  that  there  money 
that's  by  rights  half  mine  anyways!  If  you'd 
only " 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  money.  Don't  let's  talk 
about  money  this  evening!  I'm  sick  of  the  sound  of 
the  word!" 

"  Well,  John,  if  you're  too  slow  to  need  money  for 
yourself,  /  ain't  !  " 

"So  I  have  observed!" 

[240] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Och,  you  needn't  go  and  get  sarcastic  that  way! 
You  might  as  well  understand  that  I'm  an  expensive 
luxury  that  you're  got  on  your  hands!" 

"I  do  understand  it." 

"What's  the  matter  of  you  to-night?" 

"Irene,  suppose — suppose  Minnie  should  get — 
should  get  well?" 

"Not  much  danger,  is  there?" 

"Danger?  Yes,  she's  still  hi  very  great  danger. 
A  tilting  of  the  scales — and  we — the  children  and 
I — -we'd  lose  her." 

"And  if  the  scales  ain't  tilted?" 

"With  great  care  she  may  get  well." 

"Gee!  That  sure  would  be  a  pickle  fur  us,  John, 
wouldn't  it?  But  don't  worry!  Time  enough  to 
think  about  it  when  we're  up  against  it." 

"We've  got  to  face  it." 

"  Well,  I'm  not  one  to  borrow  trouble,  if  you  are  ! 
Just  wait  a  week  or  so  and  leave  us  see  how  things 
goes  before  we  face  it." 

John  was  not  unwilling  .to  postpone  the  ordeal  of 
unravelling  the  coil  in  which  he  found  himself  en- 
meshed. Minnie's  possible  ultimate  recovery  seemed 
so  very  far  off  in  the  future. 

That  night  when  Irene  went  up  to  bed,  he  re- 
mained below.  "I  ain't  sleepy.  I  feel  for  reading 
till  a  while  yet,"  he  answered  her  puzzled  and  sus- 
picious questions  as  to  why  he  didn't  "come  up 
along." 

It  was  not  until  he  felt  sure  she  must  be  asleep 
[2411 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

that   he   ventured  to  return   to   his   letter  in   the 
parlour. 

I  know,  my  dear,  dear  Minnie,  that  you  are  not  strong 
enough  to  read  all  this  that  I'm  writing  to-night.  But  I 
got  to  talk  to  you,  whether  or  no — and  if  I  don't  send  it  all 
to  you  at  once,  I'll  send  a  little  at  a  time.  I  wish  now 
that  I'd  have  kept  a  daily  record  of  the  sayings  and  doings 
of  the  children  while  you  were  sick — but,  my  own  dear 
wife,  we  never  thought  you  would  get  well.  What  I  went 
through  in  those  first  weeks ! — and  what  I've  learned  about 
you — about  what  a  wife  you  were  to  me  and  what  a  mother 
to  our  children !  Until  I  had  to  try  to  learn  to  live  without 
you,  I  certainly  didn't  know  all  you  were  to  me,  Minnie! 
And  as  for  Jacky  and  Sophie — all  the  love  and  care  that  I 
could  give  them  could  never  make  up  to  them  for  your 
devotion. 

And  so  on  through  many  pages.  He  told  her  of  his 
school  work,  of  his  wrestlings  with  housework,  of  his 
futile  advertisings  for  a  housekeeper.  "Of  course 
Jennie  and  Mother  helped  me  out  a  good  bit,"  he 
wrote. 

It  was  a  new  experience  to  him  to  find  himself  in- 
hibited from  speaking  to  Minnie  of  some  things — he 
had  never  had  but  one  secret  from  her  in  all  his  mar- 
ried life.  But  now,  everything  which  he  started  to  tell 
her  presented  difficulties,  embarrassments,  pitfalls. 
"  The  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard ! "  he  kept  think- 
ing at  every  detour  he  was  forced  to  make  in  his 
narrative.  He  continued: 

[242] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

I  guess  it  won't  surprise  you,  dear  Minnie,  to  hear  that 
I've  done  almost  no  reading  at  all  since  that  fatal  night  of 
the  shooting.  I  seemed  to  lose  all  interest  in  reading 
books  without  you  here  to  share  them  with  me.  And  you 
know  there's  never  been  any  one  else  I  could  talk  to  of 
books.  And  to  have  ideas  and  not  be  able  to  hand  them 
out  to  an  interested  listener,  but  keep  them  bottled  up  in 
yourself — well,  it's  fierce ! 

Of  the  many  sheets  of  paper  that  he  covered  that 
night,  he  mailed  only  a  few,  on  his  way  to  school 
next  day. 

Irene  did  not  leave  for  the  city  that  morning.  "  I've 
changed  my  mind,"  she  announced  at  breakfast. 

"Why?"  he  asked  indifferently. 

"You  need  watchin',  that's  why!  You're  actin* 
queer!  You  see,  Johnny  I  know,  if  Minnie  never 
did,  that  you're  some  bird!  I'm  keepin'  you  in 
sight." 

He  scarcely  heeded  her  only  half-understood 
innuendoes. 

"I'll  bring  the  children  home  then,"  he  replied. 

"Och,  you  needn't  be  in  a  hurry  to!  Why  don't 
you  give  yourself  a  holiday  from  'em  fur  a  couple 
days?" 

"I  live  for  my  children,  Irene." 

"But  a  little  fur  yourself,  too,  I'm  thinkin',  John. 
Ain't?" 

"A  man  hasn't  any  right  to  bring  children  into 
the  world  and  then  put  his  pleasures  before  their  best 
welfare." 

[243] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Now  what  are  you  drivin*  at  with  all  that  fine 
talk  anyhow?"  she  asked  suspiciously.  "Put  it 
plain!" 

"  Och,  never  mind.  Give  me  another  cup  of  coffee, 
please." 

During  the  next  few  weeks  letters  from  Minnie 
came  more  and  more  frequently,  each  one  longer, 
more  like  her  old  self,  than  the  preceding  one.  John, 
never  mentioning  these  letters  to  Irene,  eluded  her 
inquiries  as  to  what  news  he  received  from  the 
sanitarium;  and  in  order  to  avoid  her  curiosity  as  to 
why  he  locked  himself  into  the  parlour  so  often,  he 
now  remained  in  his  schoolroom  every  day  long 
after  the  closing  hour,  to  write  letters  to  Minnie  un- 
disturbed; briefly  explaining  his  late  return  home  by 
the  statement  that  he  had  "extra  work  to  do." 

The  only  drawback  to  this  arrangement  was  the 
children's  mournfulness  over  his  prolonged  absences. 
In  spite  of  Irene's  recent  forbearance  and  patience 
with  them,  he  could  not  help  feeling  uneasy  at  leav- 
ing them,  through  so  many  hours  of  the  day,  alone 
with  one  who  was  not  fond  of  them  and  who  was 
sometimes  very  harsh  to  them. 

When  on  Saturday  and  Sunday,  also,  he  was 
obliged  to  go  to  his  schoolroom  for  this  "  extra  work," 
he  always  took  the  children  with  him,  letting  them 
scribble  on  the  blackboard  while  he  wrote  to  their 
mother. 

It  was  hard  to  repress  his  desire  to  talk  to  his 
children  of  their  mother,  to  read  them  snatches  of  her 

[2441 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

letters,  to  tell  them  that  perhaps  some  day  they  would 
have  her  back  again.  But  he  knew  that  of  course 
anything  he  told  them  they  would  be  apt  to  "leave 
out"  before  Irene;  and  therein  lay  danger — for 
Minnie,  for  himself,  for  his  children,  and,  alas,  for 
poor  Irene  herself! 

He  hated  the  double  dealing  into  which  circum- 
stances seemed  to  force  him  these  days — he  who  had 
always  been  so  direct  in  his  relations  with  others. 

"He's  up  to  something!"  Irene  decided  indig- 
nantly, when  she  presently  became  conscious  of  his 
evasions.  "If  I  don't  believe  Minnie's  gettin*  well! 
I'd  ought  to  have  sent  that  there  fake  talegrap  from 
the  doctor  sooner!  Mebby  I'm  too  late!  I  got  to 
get  busy  and  find  out  what's  what!" 

She  resented  the  many  hours  John  now  spent 
away  from  her  in  his  schoolroom.  "I  never  knowed 
no  other  teacher  to  work  so  long,"  she  chided  him. 
"If  it  brang  you  in  more  pay,  I'd  say,  Go  to  it!  But 
it  don't,  does  it?" 

"No." 

"You're  gettin  to  be  like  old  Doc  Maus — you're 
givin'  your  services  too  cheap.  People  always  turns 
a  man  down  that  does  that." 

"I  know  they  do;  and  invariably  admire  and 
honour  the  man  that  overcharges  and  exploits  them! 
Och,  human  nature  ain't  a  pretty  thing  when  you 
come  to  think  of  it!" 

"Then  if  you  know  folks  is  like  that,  why  do  you 
ac'  like  such  a  nut?" 

[2451 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"  'Every  why  hath  a  wherefore/  Shakespeare  says." 
"John    Wimmer!     Why    can't    I    never    get    no 
sensible   answer  out  of  you  no   more,   to  a  plain 
question?    You  that  wants  to  be  so  intelligent!" 
"  'Ask  who  is  wise  ? — You'll  find  the  selfsame  man 
A  sage  in  France,  a  madman  in  Japan,' " 

John  flippantly  quoted. 

"Och!"  cried  Irene,  "quit  makin'  poitry  at  me!" 

"It  was  Tom  Moore,  not  me,  that  made  that 
poetry,  Irene." 

"Who's  he?    I  never  heard  of  him." 

"Poor  fellah!" 

"Say,  John,  it  ain't  like  you  to  try  to  be  funny! 
And  it  don't  set  well  on  you,  neither.  You  ain't  no 
funny  man — you  never  was  and  you  never  could  be. 
It  ain't  in  you.  Now  Hen  he  could  be  funny.  When 
he  wasn't  strickly  sober,  he  was  a  scream!" 

"Irene!"  protested  John,  "don't  make  yourself 
out  worse'n  you  are  yet!" 

"Worse'n  I  am!"  she  repeated  resentfully  "Och, 
well,  if  it's  a  choice  between  insults  and  poitry,  gimme 
the  insults.  I  understand  'em  better.  When  it 
comes  to  insults  I  ain't  fightin'  so  in  the  dark.  Say, 
John,  don't  you  think  it's  the  pot  callin'  the  kittle 
black  when  you  try  to  put  it  all  over  me  that  you're 
got  such  a  grand  moral  char'kter?  " 

"I'm  not  trying  to  do  that,"  returned  John  as  he 
rose  and  removed  himself  from  the  range  of  her 
questions. 

But  there  was  another  besides  Irene  who  asked 
[246] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

inconvenient  questions.  The  time  came  soon  when 
he  had  to  meet  Minnie's  inquiries  as  to  who  kept 
house  for  him  and  took  care  of  the  children. 

He  spoiled  several  sheets  of  paper  trying  to  answer 
that  question  honestly. 

"I  got  a  hired  housekeeper,"  he  wrote.  But  that 
was  too  lacking  in  candour.  He  could  not  stand  it. 
So  he  tried  another. 

"I  advertised  for  a  housekeeper,  but  didn't  get 
one,  so  a  member  of  the  family  came  to  help  me  out." 

"She'll  think,  to  be  sure,  that  I  mean  one  of  my 
sisters,"  he  thought. 

He  could  not  deceive  her. 

You'll  be  surprised  to  hear  who's  with  me,  Minnie, 
helping  me  out.  Your  sister-in  -law,  Irene ! 

This,  after  some  misgiving,  was  allowed  to  stand. 
Minnie's  response  was  strangely  humiliating  to  his 
feelings. 

I  hope  I'll  get  well  soon,  for  I  know  it  must  be  hard  on 
you,  John,  as  fine-natured  as  what  you  are,  to  have  a 
person  like  Irene  around  you  and  the  children.  I  do  hope 
they  won't  pick  up  her  coarse  ways  and  her  common  talk. 
Please  watch  that  they  don't,  if  you  can,  without  hurting 
Irene's  feelings. 

And,  John,  dear,  I  know  you  will  be  careful  not  to  leave 
Jacky  get  hurt  when  he  rides  a  horse  at  his  Grandpop's. 
His  joy  over  a  horse  reminds  me  of  his  Ma  when  she  was  a 
little  girl — I've  seen  that  woman  get  a  ride  out  of  two 
chairs  tied  together  to  make  the  head  and  tail  of  a  beast! 

[247] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Occasionally  Minnie's  letters  gave  John  some 
dark  hours  of  despair;  as  when,  for  instance,  she 
wrote, 

I  see  so  many  different  kinds  of  people  here — I  didn't 
know  that  it  gives  so  many  kinds  of  people  in  the  world! 
And  all  so  different  from  each  other;  the  doctors,  the 
nurses,  the  orderlies,  the  other  patients.  And,  John,  my 
dear,  the  more  I  see  of  men-people,  the  more  I  know  that 
my  man  is  a  fine,  up-standing  specimen. 

"If  she  knew!  If  she  ever  knows !"  John's  heart 
groaned  over  her. 

The  time  was  surely  drawing  near  when  he  and 
Irene  would  have  to  meet  and  face  their  situation. 

He  believed  that  in  her  own  selfish  way  Irene  cared 
for  him.  Had  he  not  ample  proof  of  it?  And  be- 
cause of  this  he  surely  was  obligated  to  her.  His  own 
predicament  seemed  to  him  inexplicable — bound  to 
two  women  whose  opposing  claims  left  him  (any  way 
you  took  it)  a  miserable  brute! 

But  his  dominant  feeling  he  found  to  be  a  dread,  an 
actual  fear,  of  Minnie's  judgment  of  him.  How 
strange  it  seemed  to  him  to  be  fearing  the  very 
presence  of  his  gentle  wife — she  who  had  always  been 
so  pliant  in  his  hands  that  he  had  done  with  her  as 
he  would;  who  had  spent  her  days  in  studying 
to  please  him;  who  had  looked  up  to  him  as  to  a 
god! 

"'How  conscience  doth  make  cowards  of  us  all!"3 
he  intelligently  quoted  at  himself. 

[248] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

He  made  a  second  attempt  to  "sound"  Irene  as  to 
her  own  expectations  in  the  event  of  Minnie's  re- 
covery and  return. 

"You  know,  Irene,"  he  began  uneasily  as  they  sat 
together  one  evening  in  the  sitting  room,  "our 
present  relation  probably  can't  go  on  indefinitely." 

"Why  not?"  she  quickly  demanded. 

"My  wife  may  get  well." 

"And  if  she  does?    What  then?" 

"What  would  you  suggest,  Irene?" 

"I  ain't  worryin'  about  it." 

"I  am." 

"Well,  you  can  if  you  want  to!  If  you  purfur  an 
invalid  wife  to  a  husky " 

"Look  here,  Irene,"  he  hastily  interrupted,  "if  you 
and  I  hadn't  believed  that  Minnie  was  incurable,  that 
she  was  as  good  as  dead,  we  never,  never  would  have 
begun  the  relation  in  which  we've  lived!  Now  this 
is  Minnie's  home — she  owns  it;  I  am  her  husband,  not 
yours;  Jacky  and  Sophie  are  her  children,  not  yours. 
What  is  your  claim  here — on  me  and  this  home — com- 
pared to  hers?" 

"Do  you  forget  what  you  promised  me  when  I 
first  come  to  you? — 'I'll  be  true  to  you,'  you  tol'  me, 
'and  I'll  never  leave  you  regret  it,  darling,  never!' — 
that's  what  you  sayed!  And  you  sayed,  'I  love  you 
too  much  to  wrong  you!'  And  you  tol'  me  you'd 
always  loved  me! — that  you'd  never  stopped  lovin* 
me!  That's  what  you  tol'  me!  If  you  don't  re- 
member it,  I  do  /" 

[2491 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"I  do  remember  it,  Irene — every  word  of  it,"  he 
wretchedly  admitted. 

"Well,  then,  are  you  a-goin'  to  live  up  to  it,  or  ain't 
you?" 

"I  am  obligated  to  you — but  I  am  bound,  soul  and 
body,  to  Minnie." 

"So  you're  plannin'  to  jilt  me  a  second  time,  are 
you?  Whiles  me  and  you  was  still  promised  to  each 
other,  you  went  and  ast  Minnie  Maus  to  marry  you ! 
You  drove  me  into  marryin'  a  fellah  like  Hen  Maus! 
Then  when  I  took  pity  on  your  helplessness  here  and 
come  to  help  you  out,  you  lured  me  into  goin'  the 
limit!  And  now  you  want  to  turn  me  off!" 

"I'll  try  to  meet  your  wishes,  Irene,  as  far  as  lies  in 
my  power — if  you'll  only  tell  me  what  they  are.  I'll 
do  every  thing  for  you  that  I  can  do — except  injure  or 
hurt  Minnie." 

"It  don't  matter,  I  guess,  how  much  you  hurt  and 
injure  me!" 

"Yes,  it  does.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  and  injure 
you!" 

"Well,  look-a-here,  John,  leave  me  just  tell  you  a 
certain  fac' — Vm  here  to  stay!"  she  affirmed,  folding 
her  arms  with  a  determination  that  seemed  to  John 
appallingly  hopeless.  "When  your  Minnie  comes 
back,  you  can  ast  her,  not  me,  what  she's  goin'  to  do 
about  it!" 

It  was  only  a  few  days  after  this  drearily  unsuccess  - 
ful  attempt  to  come  to  an  understanding  with  Irene 
that  a  letter  from  Minnie  announced  triumphantly, 

[250] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"The  doctor  says  I  am  gaining  so  quick,  he  thinks  in 
a  few  weeks  you  dare  come  to  see  me!  Sound  the 
loud  timbrel!" 

It  was  this  note  which  fell  into  Irene's  hands  when 
one  night,  driven  by  her  suspicions  and  her  desire  to 
know  the  truth  as  to  Minnie's  progress,  she  rose  from 
her  bed,  went  to  John's  room  across  the  hall,  and 
assuring  herself  that  he  was  asleep,  searched  his 
pockets  for  letters. 

"A  few  weeks!"  she  thought  in  consternation. 
"In  a  few  weeks  a'ready  he  has  dare  to  go  to  see  her! 
Gee,  I  got  to  get  busy  right  aways  if  I'm  a-goin*  to 
stop  it!" 


[251 


CHAPTER  XIX 

f  •  ^HE  next  morning  after  John  had  gone  to 
school,  Irene's  search  through  the  desk  in' the 
M.  parlour  for  stationery  proving  fruitless  (as 
John  kept  his  supply  at  school)  she  slipped  on  a 
sweater  and  went  to  the  new  General  Store  to  buy  a 
bottle  of  ink,  an  envelope,  two  sheets  of  paper  (two 
in  case  she  spoiled  one) ,  a  pen  and  a  stamp.  Equipped 
thus,  she  went  home  and,  while  the  breakfast  table 
stood  and  the  grease  congealed  on  plates  and  pans, 
she  set  herself  to  the  unaccustomed  task  of  composing 
a  letter. 

When  the  strenuous  ordeal  was  concluded,  having 
addressed  the  envelope  to  Mr.  Albert  Wenrich,  at 
Lancaster,  she  carried  it  to  the  postoffice. 

It  was  in  the  noon  mail  that  same  day  that  John 
received  an  unexpected  letter  from  the  sanitarium; 
as  this  was  not  the  usual  time  for  one  of  his  quite 
regular  bi-weekly  letters  from  Minnie,  he  was 
startled.  With  a  sharp  pang  of  alarm  he  found  the 
name  of  the  nurse,  instead  of  his  wife's,  at  the  end  of 
the  note.  Could  Minnie  have  had  a  set-back? 

MY  DEAR  MR.  WIMMER: 

Dr.  Conrad  thinks  a  few  weeks  at  the  sea  would  hastea 
your  wife's  convalescence.  She  doesn't  pick  up  so  fast  as 

[252] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

we  should  like  to  see  her.  So  with  your  consent  we  will  at 
once  remove  her  to  Oyster  Cove  to  our  cottage  hospital 
there — five  miles  from  Atlantic  City — where  she  will  have 
just  what  she  has  here — nourishing  diet,  a  doctor  and 
nurse,  with  the  addition  of  the  invigourating  salt  air. 
Kindly  wire  your  consent. 

Dr.  Conrad  thinks  you  may  be  able  to  come  to  see  your 
wife  at  the  end  of  her  first  week  at  the  sea.  Not  before. 
We  will  notify  you. 

Sincerely  yours, 

GRACE  KENTNOR. 

P.  S.  Mrs.  Wimmer's  address  at  the  sea  will  be  Cottage 
Hospital,  Oyster  Cove,  New  Jersey. 

John  lost  no  time  in  telegraphing  his  reply. 

As  he  walked  home  from  the  telegraph  office,  it 
was  with  strangely  mingled  feelings  of  elation  and 
dread  that  he  realized  the  nearness  of  the  precarious 
crisis  which  Minnie's  recovery  was  going  to  precipi- 
tate. His  hunger  for  her,  his  almost  feverish  ex- 
citement at  the  prospect  of  his  imminent  reunion  with 
her,  brought  him  a  sudden  vision  of  a  truth  which 
gave  him  a  shock. 

"Minnie  always  has  been  my  true  mate!  Not  the 
woman  I've  spent  myself  longing  for  all  these  years! 
I've  been  a  blind  fool!  No  other  woman  could  ever 
have  met  me  as  Minnie  has  met  me!  Why,  in  the 
deepest  places  of  our  lives  we  have  been  at  one — 
we've  been  one  mind,  one  flesh — and,  fool  that  I've 
been,  I  have  not  known  it !  Didn't  know  how  blessed 

[253] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

I  was!  Believed  I'd  missed  the  truest  and  best 
marriage!'* 

He  marvelled  at  himself  as  he  thought  of  Irene  in 
the  light  of  his  present  knowledge  of  her.  "I  mis- 
took for  love  a  lurid  fire,  a  blinding  glare,  that  burnt 
out  all  that  was  fine  in  me! — while  my  true  love  for 
my  mate — a  clear,  steady  light,"  thought  John, 
"that  illumined  all  my  days! — I  misvalued  it!  Oh, 
God!  Why  was  I  so  fooled?" 

And  now  that  he  had  waked  up  to  know  that 
Minnie  was  the  only  mate  for  him  hi  all  the  world, 
now  perhaps  it  was  too  late! 

"If  I  have  escaped  losing  her  through  death,  I  may 
lose  her  through  worse!" 

It  was  two  days  later,  at  about  nine  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  that  a  very  peculiar  thing  happened.  Irene 
had  just  gone  up  to  bed,  leaving  him  reading  below, 
when  the  Hessville  telegraph  operator,  in  a  state  of 
more  than  his  usual  excitement  in  delivering  a 
personal  instead  of  a  business  message,  arrived  at 
John's  door  with  two  yellow  envelopes,  both  from 
Philadelphia.  John's  heart  stood  still  as  he  saw 
them.  Something  must  have  gone  wrong! — Minnie 
was  worse — a  mishap  on  her  way  to  the  sea! 

He  tore  open  one  of  the  envelopes. 

Wife  worse.  Come  right  away.  Don't  lose  time  when 
you  get  here,  but  come  straight  to  her  room,  number  16, 
third  floor. 

CONRAD  SANITARIUM. 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

John's  shaking  fingers  tore  open  the  second  en- 
velope. "This,"  he  thought,  "is  to  say  she's  dead!" 

Mrs.  Wimmer  bore  journey  yesterday  to  Oyster  Cove 
splendidly.  Her  condition  most  satisfactory. 

DR.  CHARLES  CONRAD. 

John  stared  helplessly  at  the  two  papers  in  his 
hands. 

"Say!"  exclaimed  the  excited  and  curious  oper- 
tor,  "them  two  telegraphs  don't  sound  according  to 
each  other — ain't  not?" 

"One  says  she's  at  Oyster  Cove,  the  other  that 
she's  at  the  Phil-delphy  hospital!"  cried  John 
huskily.  "Which  one  came  first?" 

"The  one  that  says  they  got  bad  hopes  fur  her 
come  ten  minutes  ahead  of  the  other  one.  You  can 
see  the  time  marked  on  'em.  I  guess,  John,  you 
can't  tell  rightly  which  one  is  more  reliable — ain't 
not?" 

" I  don't  understand  it !    I'll  phone  to  the  hospital ! " 

"Och,  John,  it  costs  expensive  to  phone  to  Phil- 
delphy!  Seventy -five  cents  yet!  Don't  be  so  reck- 
less!" 

But  John  was  already  running  up  the  street 
ahead  of  the  operator,  to  the  public  telephone  at  the 
telegraph  office.  By  the  time  the  telegrapher  got 
there,  the  schoolmaster  was  talking  to  the  long 
distance  operator  at  Lancaster. 

After  an  agonizing  wait  of  ten  minutes,  he  was 
connected  with  the  hospital;  and  after  another  five 

[255] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

minutes,  Doctor  Conrad's  voice  came  to  him  across 
seventy -five  miles. 

"Doctor  Conrad,  this  is  John  Wimmer — how  is  my 
wife  now?" 

"I  sent  you  a  telegram  an  hour  ago,  telling  you  she 
was  doing  splendidly.  I  wired  you  as  soon  as  I 
returned  to  Philadelphia  after  taking  her  to  Oyster 
Cove." 

"I  got  that  telegram — but  another  one  came  ten 
minutes  earlier  saying  she  was  dying! — at  the 
Phil-delphy  hospital! — and  telling  me  to  come  right 
aways!" 

"What!  Some  mistake,  Mr.  Wimmer!  We  took 
her  away  from  the  Philadelphia  hospital  yesterday 
morning." 

"And  this  telegram  is  dated  to-day!"  cried  John. 

"That's  very  queer!  WTiose  name  was  signed  to 
it?" 

"It  was  signed  'Conrad  Sanitarium." 

"No  telegrams  are  ever  sent  from  here  signed  like 
that!  Someone  has  been  trying  to  play  a  trick  on 
you,  Mr.  Wimmer — someone  with  a  rather  perverted 
sense  of  humour!" 

"But  I  don't  know  any  one  in  Phil-delphy  since  my 
sister  moved  away  from  there — and  the  telegram  is 
from  Phil-delphy!" 

"The  thing  should  be  ferreted  out!"  exclaimed  the 
doctor. 

"And  I'm  not  to  come  to  see  Minnie  yet  awhile, 
ain't  I?" 

[256] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

''Not  a  day  before  we  send  for  you.  Mrs.  Wim- 
mer  is  not  out  of  danger  and  could  not  bear  the 
excitement  of  seeing  you.  Mr.  Wimmer!  Have  you 
an  enemy?" 

"Well — one  or  two  or  so — but  none  wery  serious." 

"An  enemy  that  wanted  to  injure  your  wife  must 
have  sent  you  that  telegram,  I  think!  Well,  be 
thankful  that  it  is  a  trick!" 

"I  am,  I  am!  And  thank  you,  thank  you!" 
returned  John,  his  voice  thick  with  emotion. 
"Good-bye,  Doctor." 

The  inquisitive  operator,  eager  to  hear  what  the 
schoolmaster  had  learned,  was  doomed  to  disap- 
pointment, for  the  look  in  John's  eyes  as  he  blindly 
staggered  out  of  the  office  deterred  the  man  from 
daring  to  question  him. 

Who  had  played  this  miserable  trick  upon  him? 
All  the  way  home  he  tried  to  "ferret  out"  the 
meaning  of  it.  What  had  been  the  purpose  of  it? 

"If  a  person  wanted  to  injure  me  through  Minnie, 
they  took  a  dumb  way  to  do  it !  For  if  she  was  at  the 
Phil-delphy  hospital  yet,  and  hadn't  the  dare  to  see 
wisitors,  just  as  if  the  hospital  authorities  wouldn't 
have  stopped  me  from  getting  to  her  room ! " 

But  who  would  want  to  so  injure  him  and  Minnie? 
Irene,  hoping  to  marry  him  if  Minnie  died,  was  of 
course  not  the  guilty  one;  she  was  not  in  Philadelphia, 
she  was  here  in  Hessville.  And  whatever  Irene's 
faults,  she  certainly  wasn't  capable  of  trying  to  murder 
people  who  stood  in  her  way! 

[2571 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

He  considered  the  fact  that  the  villain  had  been 
someone  who  knew  the  number  of  Minnie's  room  at 
the  hospital.  But  this  suggested  no  clue. 

The  stupidity  of  the  plot  puzzled  him  almost  as 
much  as  its  wickedness. 

Suddenly  there  flashed  before  his  mind,  he  knew 
not  why,  the  green-hatted  man  dressed  in  clothes  of 
city  cut,  whom  he  had  one  day  seen  leaving  his 
house  and  about  whom  Irene  had  behaved  so 
mysteriously.*  "I  wonder  if  that  guy  came  from 
Phil-delphy?"  he  thought. 

The  idea  persisted  in  haunting  him  in  spite  of  its 
rejection  by  his  common  sense. 

"It's  too  far-fetched  to  think  that  Irene  would 
plot  with  another  man  to  have  me  kill  my  wife! 
I'm  dippy!" 

But  next  morning  as  he  sat  opposite  her  at  the 
breakfast  table,  contemplating  her  thoughtfully  as  he 
sipped  his  coffee,  he  suddenly  resolved  to  test  her  a 
bit. 

"See  here!"  he  said,  taking  from  his  pocket  the 
doctor's  telegram,  "I  got  that  last  night  after  you 
went  upstairs." 

The  colour  flew  to  her  face  as  she  took  from  him  the 
yellow  paper.  He  watched  her,  fascinated,  while  her 
countenance  changed  from  surprise  to  consterna- 
tion. 

"Why — why,  she  ain't  at  the  hospital  no  more 
then!" 

"No.    Left  two  days  ago." 
[258] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Oh!  But — why,  look-a-here,  John,  if  she's  well 
enough  to  be  took  to  the  seashore,  there's  somepin 
awful  funny  about  them  keepin'  you  away  from  her 
all  this  time!  I  believe  they're  trickin'  you!  I 
believe  she's  plenty  good  enough  fur  you  to  see  her. 
You  better  look  into  it!  Why  don't  you  go  to  this 
here  Oyster  Cove  and  take  'em  by  surprise?  Force 
'em  to  leave  you  see  her ! " 

"I  got  another  telegram  last  night,"  said  John. 

Irene  turned  from  crimson  to  white.  "Another 
one  yet !  What  was  it  about  ? ' ' 

He  drew  it  forth  and  watched  her  as  she  read  it. 

"Say,  John!  I  believe  this  here  telegraph's  the 
one  you  better  mind  to.  You  better  go  on  and  see 
your  wife  oncet  and  find  out  what's  what!" 

"But  I  talked  to  Doctor  Conrad  on  the  phone." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Irene,  catching  her  breath. 
"You  did,  did  you?" 

"Yes,  I  did." 

"And  what  did  he  have  to  say?" 

"That  telegrams  sent  out  by  the  hospital  are 
never  signed  as  that  one  is — 'Conrad  Sanitarium.* 
He  says  I  must  have  an  enemy.  Someone  that  wants 
to  injure  my  wife  and  me." 

"Och!     Punk!" 

"This  enemy  of  mine — he  took  a  clumsy  way 
about  it,  didn't  he?  He  must  be  awful  dumb!" 

"You  think!" 

"I  do." 

"Why?" 

[2591 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"In  the  first  place,  the  wording  of  the  telegram 
ain't  professional." 

"Oh,  it  ain't,  ain't  it?" 

"And  any  chump  would  know  that  I  could  not  get 
near  my  wife's  room  at  the  hospital  unless  those  in 
charge  allowed  me  to!" 

"You  could  force  'em  to  leave  you  see  your  own 
wife!" 

"That,  I  suppose,  is  what  my  enemy  hoped  I'd  do. 
Well,"  concluded  John  as  he  rose  from  the  table 
looking  very  pale,  "he  was  a  fool!" 

"John!"  Irene  checked  him  as  he  went  toward 
the  door. 

He  stopped.     "Well?" 

"Do  you — is  there — who  do  you  suspicion  of 
playing  you  this  here  trick?" 

He  looked  at  her  and  her  eyes  could  not  meet  his. 

"I'm  going  to  find  out  who  did  it,  Irene,"  he 
quietly  answered;  then  turned  and  left  the  room. 

Irene  remained  sitting  at  the  table  for  a  long  time 
after  he  had  gone.  "I  believe  he  suspicions  I  had  a 
hand  in  it!" 

She  shivered  as  she  thought  of  the  ominous  quiet 
of  his  voice  as  he  had  said,  "I'm  going  to  find  out 
who  did  it!" 

"He  always  seems  to  do  what  he  says  he's  going 
to!"  she  thought  fearfully.  "But  I  don't  see  how  he 
can  prove  nothing  on  me!  I  didn't  fake  that  there 
telegraph!" 

She  concluded,  after  a  little  further  reflection  upon 
[2601 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

the  situation,  that  it  was  very  necessary  to  go  to 
Lancaster  at  once  for  that  postponed  visit  to  a  throat 
specialist. 

An  hour  after  John  had  gone  to  school,  she  locked 
the  children  into  the  kitchen  and  walked  down  to  the 
postoffice  to  write  and  mail  a  special  delivery  note  to 
Albert  Wenrich  at  Lancaster. 

That  evening  she  announced  to  John  that  she 
could  not  defer  any  longer  going  to  town  to  have  her 
throat  treated. 

"If  you  can  spare  me  the  price,  I'll  go  to-morrow 
morning,  John." 

She  felt  puzzled  and  uneasy  at  his  extremely 
gentle  acquiescence.  His  manner  to  her  for  some 
time  past  had  been  far  too  patient  and  kind  to  be 
satisfactorily  lover-like. 

The  next  morning  being  Saturday,  he  offered  to  go 
with  her  to  "the  Square"  and  put  her  and  her 
satchel  on  the  trolley  car. 

Now  she  had  never  before  happened  to  go  to  town 
on  a  Saturday,  the  only  day  he  was  free  to  accompany 
her  to  the  car,  and  this  unprecedented  circumstance 
found  her  embarrassed  She  manifested  so  unmis- 
takably a  reluctance  to  have  him  go  with  her  that 
his  attention  became  focussed  upon  the  fact. 

"My  bag  ain't  heavy,  John,  and  you're  so  busy, 
with  all  this  here  exter  school  work  you're  doin — 

She  guessed,  now,  what  that  extra  work  probably 
was.  "He  sets  up  there  writin*  to  Minnie,  I  bet 
you!"  was  her  suspicion. 

[2611 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"I'll  walk  with  you  to  the  Square  along,"  John 
repeated.  "It's  Saturday  and  I  got  time  a-plenty." 

"But  I  want  to  stop  at  home  a  couple  minutes  and 
see  Pop  and  Mom,  John." 

"All  right.  I'll  be  at  the  Square  with  your  bag  till 
you  get  there  a'ready." 

"It  ain't  necessary  that  you  waste  your  time." 

"That's  all  right,  Irene." 

"Och,  John,  I  can  carry  my  own  bag.  I  don't 
want  for  you  to  bother." 

"It  ain't  no  bother  to  me,"  John  firmly  persisted. 

Irene  turned  away  to  hide  the  actual  fear  in  her 
face  at  his  determination ;  but  he  had  glanced  up  and 
caught  the  look  before  she  turned,  and  he  knew  that 
she  must  have  a  very  urgent  reason  indeed  for  ob- 
jecting to  his  accompanying  her. 

He  said  no  more  about  it.  But  when  she  was 
ready  to  leave,  he  took  her  bag  from  her  hand  and 
started  out  with  her. 

"But,  John,"  she  protested,  "I'm  a-goin*  to 
Mom's  first!  It  will  be  so  tiresome  for  you  to  have 
to  wait  at  the  Square  for  me ! " 

"You  haven't  time  to  go  to  your  mother's.  You 
barely  have  time  to  catch  the  trolley." 

"Then  I  won't  go  by  the  trolley,"  she  said 
suddenly.  "I'll  take  the  train." 

"  That  goes  only  ten  minutes  later.  You  can't  go 
first  to  your  mother's,  Irene." 

"Och,  well,  then,"  she  crossly  surrendered  as  they 
started  down  the  street. 

[2621 


"Which  shall  it  be — trolley  or  train?"  he  asked. 

"Train,"  she  curtly  answered. 

"But  here's  your  trolley  standing,"  he  pointed  out 
as  they  came  to  the  Square.  "Why  don't  you  take 
it?" 

"I  don't  want  to — leave  us  hurry  to  the  depot 
over,"  she  replied,  walking  so  fast  that  he  had  to  take 
long  strides  to  keep  up  with  her.  "It  takes  so  much 
longer  by  the  trolley,"  she  added  when,  having  gone 
past  the  Square  as  though  they  were  pursued,  she 
slackened  her  pace. 

"But  you  hardly  ever  go  by  the  train,  Irene — it 
costs  double." 

"There  you  go  again — the  cost,  always  the  cost! 
Och,  no,  I  don't  mean  that,  Johnny  dearie!"  she 
hastily  added.  "I  know  you're  as  generous  to  me  as 
you  otherwise  can  be.  But  I  do  hate  to  have  to 
think  about  costs  all  the  time!" 

"So  do  I.  I  don't  have  objections  to  your  taking 
the  train.  I'm  only  wondering  why  you  want  to." 

"I  want  to  save  time." 

"Will  you  be  back  to-night?" 

"If  it  don't  take  too  long  to  see  the  doctor." 

"What  doctor?" 

"The  throat  specialist  I'm  goin'  to." 

"What's  his  name?" 

"John  Wimmer!  You  ac'  like  as  if  you  had  sus- 
picions of  my  not  going  to  any  doctor!" 

John  did  not  reply.  They  walked  in  silence  to  the 
station. 

[263] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

When  he  had  bought  her  ticket  and  handed  it  to 
her,  she  nervously  tried  again  to  get  rid  of  him. 

"  You  got  no  need  to  stand  'round  here  waitin'  for 
the  train,  John,  if  you  don't  want  to." 

"I  would  not  deprive  myself  of  the  pleasure  of 
your  society  sooner 'n  I  must,"  he  answered. 

"You  ain't  been  so  anxious  for  my  comp'ny  lately 
that  I  would  notice  it  any!" 

Again  John  did  not  reply.  It  was  one  of  Irene's 
trials  that  she  could  never  provoke  him  to  a  quarrel. 
It  made  existence  very  tame. 

"  That  way  you're  got  of  not  answering  to  a  person 
is  awful  tantalizing,  John!"  she  complained. 

"Here  comes  your  train,"  he  said. 

She  promptly  lifted  her  face  to  kiss  him  good-bye. 

"I'll  see  you  to  your  seat,"  he  told  her. 

"Och,  you  ain't  got  no  need  to  do  that!  Here, 
gimme" — reaching  for  her  bag.  But  he  held  it 
away. 

"Come,"  he  said,  laying  his  hand  on  her  arm  to 
pilot  her  to  the  waiting  train. 

"Och,  if  you  ain't!"  she  said  helplessly,  her  face 
very  flushed,  her  eyes  rather  wild,  as  she  submitted. 

He  handed  her  up  to  the  platform,  mounted  the 
steps  after  her,  then  led  her  through  the  aisle.  The 
car  was  filled.  Not  a  vacant  seat  to  be  had.  He 
led  the  way  to  the  forward  car  and  here  there  was 
plenty  of  room.  Selecting  a  seat  on  the  shady  side  of 
the  train,  he  deposited  her  satchel  in  the  rack  over- 
head, kissed  her  good-bye,  and  turned  to  walk  away. 

[264] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

He  had  been  unable  to  -detect  anything  to  justify 
her  too-evident  apprehension  at  having  him  with 
her. 

But  just  as  he  was  stepping  off  the  train,  he  saw  a 
man  running  up  the  street  toward  the  station. 
John  stopped  to  watch  him.  Just  as  the  train  started, 
the  fellow  sprang  upon  the  steps  of  the  rear  car.  He 
was  dressed  sprucely  in  clothes  of  city  style.  And  he 
wore  a  green  felt  hat. 

John,  who  had  not  removed  his  hand  from  the 
railing  of  the  forward  car  (in  which  Irene  sat),  swung 
himself  back  upon  it  as  it  moved. 

Without  being  seen  by  Irene,  who  was  peering 
from  the  window  in  evidently  anxious  expectation,  he 
took  the  empty  seat  directly  behind  her,  and  opening 
the  newspaper  which  he  carried,  he  held  it  widespread 
before  his  face. 

In  a  moment,  over  the  top  of  it,  he  saw,  coming  up 
the  aisle  of  the  train,  the  green  felt  hat — its  owner 
looking  eagerly  from  right  to  left  into  every  seat. 
Spying  Irene,  who  was  still  peering  out  of  the  win- 
dow, he  sprang  to  her  side  and  touched  her  shoulder. 

John  watched  their  greeting — demonstrative,  con- 
spicuous. As  they  did  not  lower  their  voices,  he 
could  hear  every  word  that  they  said  as  they  sat 
together  directly  in  front  of  him. 

"I  didn't  know  but  that  I'd  find  the  oF  man 
settin'  here  alongside  of  you!"  said  he  of  the  green 
hat.  "In  which  case  Yours  Truly  would  have  beat  it 
back  to  the  smoker,  P.  D.  Q.  I  seen  him  walkin* 

[265] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

past  the  Square  with  you.     Is  that  why  you  didn't 
take  the  trolley — because  he  was  along  with  you?" 

"Yes.  And  I  had  so  afraid  you'd  gimme  away  by 
buttin'  in  whiles  he  was  with  me!" 

"Och,  gimme  credit  for  more  gumption!  So  long 
as  he  was  along  with  you,  I  had  sense  enough  to  keep 
my  distance,  you  bet  you!  I  wouldn't  risk  spoilin' 
our  little  game  by  no  sich  false  step!" 

"If  he'd  ever  get  on  to  my  larks  with  you  on  the 
side — good -night!  But  I'd  die  without  'em — he's  so 
darned  slow  and  goody-goody!  It  was  cute  of  you  to 
ketch  on  that  I  was  comin'  by  the  train  when  I  did 
not  take  the  trolley!  I  had  awful  afraid  we'd  miss 
each  other  altogether  by  John's  comin'  with!" 

"Do  you  think  he  suspicions  you — that  he  come 
along  to  see  you  off?" 

"Och,  no,  he's  so  honest  hisself,  he  thinks  others 
are  the  same!  He's  awful  slow!  But,  Alfred!  I 
got  bad  news!  Mind  you,  Minnie  ain't  at  the 
Phil-delphy  san " 

The  noise  of  a  passing  train  drowned  their  voices. 
John,  to  avoid  discovery,  rose  and  went  to  the  rear 
car. 

At  Lancaster,  a  half  hour's  ride  from  Hessville,  he 
watched  to  see  whether  Irene  and  the  green  hat  got 
off;  and  when  they  did,  he  also  got  off  and  followed 
them  to  the  hotel  to  which  they  walked.  Keeping 
himself  out  of  sight,  he  saw  them  register  at  the  desk 
in  the  lobby  and  be  taken  by  a  bellboy  upstairs  on 
the  elevator. 

[266] 


Then  going  himself  to  the  desk  he  opened  the 
register.  He  had  noted  that  the  only  people  to 
enter  their  names  after  Irene  and  her  companion  had 
been  two  men.  So  he  easily  found  the  registration 
for  which  he  looked. 

Mr.  and  Mrs  Albert  Wenrich,  Room  102. 

He  spoke  to  the  clerk.  "Say,  Mister,  is  Room  102 
engaged  for  to-night?" 

"Room  102?"  repeated  the  clerk,  glancing  at  his 
keys.  "Yes.  But  I  can  give  you  a  room  just  as 
good." 

"But  won't  102  be  wacant  by  to-night?" 

The  clerk  consulted  the  register.  "No,  it  was 
just  taken  by  a  man  and  wife  and  paid  for  up  to  this 
time  to-morrow.  What's  the  matter  that  you  want 
102?  We're  got  rooms  a-plenty 

John  turned  away  unceremoniously  and  walked 
out  of  the  lobby,  leaving  the  clerk  indignant  and 
perplexed. 

Returning  to  the  station,  he  took  the  next  train 
back  to  Hessville. 


[267 


CHAPTER  XX 

JOHN'S  interview  with  Irene  on  her  return,  on 
Sunday  afternoon,  was  very  quiet  on  his  part; 
very  shrill  on  hers.  He  had  left  the  children 
at  the  farm  to  have  them  out  of  the  way  of  "a 
scene."  With  the  bait  of  a  generous  fee  for  their 
board,  he  had  won  his  father's  consent  to  their  re- 
maining there  until  their  mother's  recovery  and 
return  from  the  sanitarium. 

Irene  found  him  waiting  for  her  in  the  sitting 
room  as,  glowing  and  vigorous,  she  came  gaily  into 
the  house.  Instantly,  as  he  saw  how  radiant  she  was, 
the  fear  struck  his  heart  that  she  and  her  accomplice 
had  succeeded  in  perpetrating  a  scheme  against 
Minnie  and  himself. 

As  he  did  not  rise  to  greet  her,  she  swooped  down 
upon  him  to  embrace  him — but  he  did  get  up  then 
and  step  out  of  her  reach. 

"Don't  take  off  your  wraps,"  he  said  in  that  quiet 
voice  of  his  which  meant  to  all  who  knew  him,  from 
his  pupils  to  his  own  children,  a  determination  that 
could  not  be  gainsaid. 

"Why  not?"  She  stopped  short,  turning  sud- 
denly white.  "What's  up?"  she  demanded. 

"You  can't  stop  here,  Irene.  I've  had  your 
[268J 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

clothes  packed  and  sent  to  your  mother's.  It's 
good-bye  between  us.  I  can't  have  you  here  with 
my  children  any  longer." 

"Oh,  I  ain't  fit  to  be  near  your  children,  ain't  I? 
Well,  then,  why  are  you  fit  for  'em?  Ain't  you  just 
as  bad?" 

"I  throw  no  stones  at  you,  for  I  live  in  a  glass 
house.  But  our  life  together  is  over." 

"Don't  you  fool  yourself  that  it's  over!  I  got 
something  to  say  to  that — whether  it's  over !  You're 
got  me  to  answer  to — not  a  milk-and-water  woman 
that  leaves  a  man  take  all  he  wants  and  then  turn  her 
out  when  he  gets  tired!  Och,  no,  not  when  it's  me 
you're  dealin'  with,  John  Wimmer!" 

"You  must  go." 

"I  must  not  either!  I'm  stayin'  right  here!  You 
just  make  up  your  mind  to  that,  John!  For  if  you 
don't  tell  Minnie  the  truth,  /  will!  And  oncet  she 
knows  the  truth,  you  might  as  well  keep  me — for 
she'll  never  come  back  to  you!" 

"Minnie  shall  hear  the  truth  from  me,  as  soon  as 
she's  strong  enough  to  bear  it." 

"She'll  hear  it  before  she's  strong  enough — and 
she'll  hear  my  wersion  of  it — if  you  don't  watch  out, 
John!" 

"You  see,  Irene,  I  know,  now,  about  you  and 
Albert  Wenrich." 

"What  do  you  know?"  she  shrilly  demanded, 
looking  startled. 

"That  you  went  with  him  to  Lancaster  yesterday 
[2691 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

and  stopped  with  him  at  the  Stevens  House  last 
night." 

"Oh,  so  you  got  jealous  and  hired  a  sleuth  to  follah 
me  round,  did  you?  Well,  John,  if  Minnie  adopted 
them  methods  with  you,  she'd  find  out  something, 
too— ain't?" 

"I  didn't  hire  a  police  force  to  trail  you." 

"How  did  you  find  out — I  mean,  it  ain't  so! 
Your  informer  is  Another!" 

"My  informant  is  my  own  eyes.  /  trailed  you  to 
Lancaster." 

"Was  you  that  jealous,  John!  Och,  well,"  she 
said,  her  tone  suddenly  ingratiating,  "you're  got  no 
need  to  be!  Al  Wenrich  ain't  you,  by  no  means, 
Johnny! — not  to  my  heart,  beloved  treas " 

"You'll  have  to  go!" 

"Look-a-here,  John,  I  tell  you  you're  got  no  need 
to  have  jealous  of  Wenrich!" 

"I  know  I  haven't.  I  couldn't  be  jealous  of 
Wenrich  if  I  tried.  What  you  do  or  who  you  care 
for  no  longer  matters  to  me,  Irene." 

"Oh,  it  don't,  don't  it?  Well,  I  guess  it  matters  to 
you  if  I  go  right  aways  to  that  there  Oyster  Cove  and 
tell  everything  to  your  wife!" 

"You  can't  get  near  her.  I've  warned  them  to 
keep  you  off  and  to  give  Minnie  no  letters  but 
mine." 

"If  I  can't  get  near  her  whiles  she's  there,  I  can 
easy  get  at  her  oncet  she's  out.  Look  at  it  sensible, 
John — if  you  throw  me  out,  you'll  end  by  bavin'  no 

[2701 


one!  You  don't  espect  Minnie  to  stick  to  you  oncet 
she  finds  you  out,  do  you?" 

"I'm  going  to  make  the  fight  of  my  life  to  keep 
her!" 

"Look-a-here!  You  treat  me  like  this  here  and 
you'll  lose  your  school  as  well  as  your  wife!  Oncet 
that  there  Hessville  school  board  knows ' 

"But  I'd  certainly  lose  my  school  if  I  kept  you  here 
after  my  wife  is  able  to  come  back  to  me.  And  what 
you  tell  against  me  would  be  (unfortunately  for  you) 
much  more  against  yourself!" 

"Yes,  that  there's  the  woman's  tough  luck!  And 
yous  men  gloat  over  it!" 

"No — I  see  how  unfair  it  is.  But,  Irene,  why  do 
you  want  me  to  keep  you?  You  don't  care  for  me — 
and  I  have  nothing  but  my  salary,  which  ain't 
enough  to  satisfy  you.  What  do  you  hope  to  get  out 
of  staying  here  with  me?" 

Her  reply  broke  from  her  impetuously,  before  she 
had  time  to  consider  and  weigh  it.  "What  I'm 
agoin'  to  get  out  of  you,  John  Wimmer,  is  the  money 
you  and  Minnie  cheated  off  of  Hen,  my  husband! 
You  that  wants  to  be  so  much,  keepin'  back  from  a 
poor  widow  what  was  by  rights  her  own  husband's! 
If  the  law  won't  give  it  to  me,  I'll  get  it  my  own  way — 
but  you'll  give  it  to  me,  or  I'll  make  you  lose  somepin 
that's  more  to  you  than  any  money!" 

"How  can  I  give  you  what  is  not  mine?  The 
money  is  Minnie's." 

He  rose  with  a  little  gesture  of  finality  against 
[271] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OP  HESSVILLE 

which  Irene  had  learned  to  know  there  was  no 
appeal.  "Take  your  satchel,  Irene,  and  leave  my 
house." 

"All  right,  and  now  you  just  watch  what  I'll  do  to 
your  precious  Minnie  oncet  I  get  at  her!  What  I'll 
tell  her  will  certainly  open  her  eyes  to  what  you  are ! — 
and  put  an  end  to  your  fancy  little  love  story! 
Well,  I  guess!  Oh,  you  make  me  sick!"  she  almost 
screamed  as  she  flung  herself  violently  out  of  the 
room  and  banged  the  door  behind  her. 

In  the  solitude  which  followed  her  departure 
John  had  ample  time  to  face  and  weigh  every 
possible  and  probable  consequence  of  his  approaching 
understanding  with  Minnie. 

He  had  no  false  sentiments  as  to  its  being  his  duty 
to  confess  to  her  all  the  unfaithfulness  of  which  he 
had  been  guilty.  "I'll  spare  her  every  bit  of  pain  I 
can.  It's  her  I  got  to  consider — not  the  easing  of  my 
own  conscience." 

He  would,  for  instance,  shield  her  from  the  horror  of 
learning  that  through  all  their  married  life  he  had 
believed  himself  in  love  with  Irene. 

"I'd  better  cut  out  my  tongue  than  steal  from  her 
that  happiness  of  the  past!  She  shall  anyhow  keep 
thai — whatever  her  future  may  be!" 

It  was,  however,  obviously  necessary  that  he 
forestall  whatever  Irene  might  choose  to  tell  his 
wife. 

His  complete  uncertainty  as  to  how  Minnie  would 
"take"  it  all  made  his  nights  sleepless,  his  days 

[272] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

haunted.  Would  it  kill  her  love? — destroy  all  her 
large  faith  in  him?  He  scorned  to  plead  even  to  his 
own  heart,  "The  woman  tempted  me!" 

"The  man  that  makes  that  an  excuse!"  he 
shrugged. 

In  his  inmost  soul  he  knew  that  he  was  not  nearly 
so  guilty  a  wretch  as  circumstances  made  him 
appear.  "For  if  I  hadn't  of  believed  that  Minnie 
was  the  same  as  dead — that  she  could  never  again  be 
a  wife  to  me,  a  mother  to  our  children,  the  mistress  of 
our  home — if  I'd  had  the  least  hope  that  she'd  ever 
be  herself  again — I  know,  as  surely  as  I  know  any- 
thing in  this  mortal  life,  that  even  such  passion  as 
drew  me  to  Irene  would  not  have  made  me  go  back 
on  my  marriage  vows!" 

As  marriage  between  him  and  any  other  woman 
had  been  impossible  while  Minnie  lived,  he  had  not 
thought  he  was  doing  wrong  in  his  relation  to  Irene  so 
long  as  she  did  not  feel  herself  harmed. 

But  how  could  he  advance  such  reasonings  and 
excuses  to  his  wife?  What  woman  on  earth  would 
consider  them  reasonable?  The  question  of  sex 
morality  had  not  been  among  those  "deep  subjects" 
which  he  and  Minnie  had  been  wont  to  discuss;  so  he 
actually  did  not  know  what  her  "views"  about  it 
really  were,  and  he  found  to  his  surprise  that  he 
could  not  even  imagine. 

"You  never  can  count  on  Minnie's  thinking  just 
what  other  ones  think  about  a  thing,"  he  reflected. 
"She  thinks  for  herself." 

[273] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

But  after  all,  would  it  be  a  question  of  what  she 
thought,  rather  than  what  she  felt?  Would  not  her 
hot  indignation  condemn  his  conduct  as  unforgiv- 
able? Would  she  not  surely  turn  him  away  as  he  had 
turned  away  Irene? — taking  the  children  with  her! 

But  the  black  desolation  of  such  a  prospect  was 
intolerable.  "I  won't  give  her  up!"  he  thought 
fiercely.  "I'll  keep  her  if  I  have  to  do  it  by  main 
force !  I'll  fight  for  her  as  I've  never  fought  for  any- 
thing in  my  life!  I'll  hold  her  in  my  arms  till  she 
swears  she'll  never  leave  me!" 

But  in  his  heart  he  knew  that  if  Minnie  deter- 
mined to  leave  him,  he  would  be  as  powerless  to  hold 
her  as  though  she  had  always  been  steel  instead  of 
velvet  in  his  hands. 

"And  I  wouldn't  want  to  keep  her  either,  if  she 
didn't  feel  for  staying  with  me!"  he  miserably  con- 
cluded. 

He  felt  that  he  could  more  easily  bear  to  see  her 
angry  and  indignant,  to  see  her  scorn  and  spurn  him, 
than  to  see  her  grieved,  stricken,  heartbroken. 

"After  all  she's  gone  through,  that  I  should  have  to 
come  to  her  with  such  a  yarn  as  I've  got  to  tell  her! 
Just  when  she's  creeping  back  to  life  and  health 
again,  to  deal  her  such  a  blow!" 

To  be  able  to  blot  out  the  past  few  months  he  felt 
he  would  give  half  his  life. 

When  at  last  the  long  waited-for  summons  arrived 
and  the  doctor  named  the  very  day  on  which  he 
might  now  come  to  Oyster  Cove,  his  eagerness  quite 

[274] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

overleaped,  for  the  time,  all  his  doubts  and  mis- 
givings. 

As  he  walked  from  the  little  station  at  the  Cove  to 
the  cottage  hospital,  he  determined  to  put  off  his  con- 
fession until  he  had  made  Minnie  feel,  through  all  her 
being,  the  joy  of  their  reunion,  his  deep,  brooding 
love  for  her,  the  blessedness  of  their  life  together, 
holding,  as  it  did  for  them  both,  all  that  was  beautiful 
and  of  worth  in  this  earthly  existence. 

"Then  when  I  do  have  to  let  the  ax  fall,  she  can't 
feel  that  it's  so  bad  that  it's  got  to  end  everything 
between  us — she  can't!" 

The  mental  image  of  her  which  he  carried  to  this 
meeting  was  not  at  all  that  of  the  young  wife  of  his 
bosom,  but  that  of  the  ghastly  wreck  she  had  been 
the  last  time  he  had  seen  her — bald,  wrinkled, 
cadaverous,  hollow-eyed. 

"I'll  find  her  improved,  of  course,"  he  thought — 
but  his  mind's  last  picture  of  her  persisted.  He  could 
not  get  rid  of  it. 

As  he  came  in  sight  of  the  cottage,  he  saw  two 
people  on  the  lawn — one  of  them  a  young  woman  in 
an  invalid's  reclining  chair;  the  other  a  man  of  about 
his  own  age  sitting  on  the  ground  at  her  side,  looking 
up  into  her  face,  in  an  attitude  that  instantly  sug- 
gested to  John  that  they  were  lovers.  A  few  steps 
nearer,  and  he  recognized  the  man  to  be  Doctor 
Conrad,  the  head  physician  of  the  sanitarium.  His 
eye  fell  again  upon  the  young  woman  and  though 
he  was  not  at  all  interested,  just  now,  in  any  one  but 

[275J 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Minnie,  he  was  struck  with  the  glowing  beauty  of  the 
invalid. 

"No  wonder  the  doctor  hangs  round  that  patient!" 
thought  John  with  a  sigh  as  he  noted  the  short  gold- 
brown  ringlets  all  over  her  head,  the  faint,  exquisite 
flush  in  her  cheeks,  the  sweetness  of  her  countenance, 
the  soft  darkness  of  her  eyes,  the 

He  stopped  short  in  the  path  in  which  he  was  walk- 
ing, his  heart  suddenly  standing  still,  his  knees 
weakening  under  him.  That  face,  those  features, 
that  countenance! 

He  had  come  to  meet  a  broken-down  invalid, 
haggard,  bald,  prematurely  old 

Was  he  going  to  faint?  A  great  husky  fellow  like 
him,  faint!  He  staggered  to  a  tree  by  the  path  and 
leaned  against  it,  still  staring  wildly  at  that  picture 
on  the  lawn,  a  few  yards  distant — the  young  doctor 
sitting  at  the  feet  of  his  lovely  patient,  gazing  up 
adoringly  into  her  radiant  face!  And  the  patient! 
John  had  not  known  she  was  beautiful !  A  pretty  little 
thing,  yes,  of  course.  Had  she  always  been  as  beauti- 
ful as  this  and  had  he,  in  his  idiotic  infatuation  for 
Irene,  been  blind  to  it?  Or  had  her  illness  greatly 
changed  her?  That  short  curly  hair,  to  be  sure 

"It  makes  her  look  like  a  handsome  little  boy,  by 
gosh!  She  looks  more  like  Jacky  than  like  herself!'* 
thought  John  with  fast-beating  heart.  "And  she's 
mine,  she's  mine!" 

But  why  was  she  gazing  back  so  smilingly  at  that 
damned  young  doctor? — why  were  not  her  eyes 

[2761 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

fastened  eagerly  upon  the  path  by  which  her  husband 
was  coming?  Why  was  she  looking  as  happy  as  this, 
in  the  company  of  another  man? 

The  fiercest  jealousy  he  had  ever  known  gripped 
him.  This  doctor,  a  gentleman,  a  polished,  ex- 
perienced man  of  the  city — for  months,  now,  Minnie 
had  been  used  to  his  society.  Surely  she  would  find 
her  husband  crude  and  common  beside  such  as  he! 
Had  their  long  separation  cooled  her  love  for  him? 
A  primitive  impulse  to  leap  upon  that  sprucely 
dressed,  elegant-looking  physician  and  smash  him, 
surged  up  in  John's  blood. 

"I  never  suspected  before  that  Minnie  could  be  a 
flirt!"  he  said  to  himself  bitterly. 

Then  he  remembered,  with  great  heaviness  of 
soul  how  little  right  he  had  to  condemn  her  "flirt- 
ing." 

"I've  done  a  lot  worse'n  just  flirt  yet!" 

Never  before  in  all  the  half-dozen  years  of  his 
marriage  had  he  had  a  moment's  jealousy  of  Minnie. 
He  had,  to  be  sure,  valued  her,  treasured  her  as  his 
life's  best  blessing;  but  he  had  always  been  absolutely 
sure  of  her.  And  never  had  she  seemed  so  desirable, 
so  priceless  to  him,  as  in  this  glaring  light  of  another 
man's  admiration  of  her. 

From  the  intensity  of  his  own  feelings  against  that 
sleek  doctor  he  suddenly  realized  what  he  might 
expect  Minnie  to  feel  when  she  learned  of  his  "inter- 
lude" with  Irene. 

"I've  lost  her!"  he  thought,  his  heart  like  lead  in 
[2771 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

his  breast.  "  This  doctor!  My  behaviour  with 
Irene!  I've  lost  her!" 

Despair  laid  hold  upon  him.  He  felt  an  over- 
powering inclination  to  turn  away  without  making  his 
presence  known — without  interrupting  that  appar- 
ently happy  communion  of  two  kindred  souls  there  on 
the  lawn — and  returning  to  Hessville. 

But  he  thought  of  the  children.  "For  their  sakes 
maybe,  in  spite  of  everything,  she  may  be  willing  to 
come  back  to  me." 

And  though  he  did  not  want  her  that  way — if  she 
did  not  come  for  his  sake,  too — yet  after  a  while,  per- 
haps, he  might  win  back  her  love. 

Well,  the  only  thing  for  it  was  to  go  ahead,  now 
that  he  was  here,  and  try  it  out;  to  put  his  fate  to  the 
test. 


[2781 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  HOUR  later  he  was  sitting  where  Doctor 
Conrad  had  sat,  on  the  lawn  at  Minnie's 
feet,  his  arm  across  her  knees,  her  hand 
clasped  in  his,  his  eyes  drinking  in  all  her  sweetness 
and  content — while  they  talked  and  talked  of  all  that 
was  in  their  hearts,  all  that  they  had  not  written  in 
their  letters,  all  the  little  things  that  one  could  say 
only  in  closest  touch. 

The  great  joy  with  which  she  had  welcomed  him 
had  instantly  and  completely  reassured  him  that  she 
still  loved  him — loyal  little  Minnie!  And  in  this 
wonderful  hour  of  reunion  the  cloud  of  the  "con- 
fession "  he  had  to  make  receded  so  far  into  the  back- 
ground as  almost  to  disappear.  He  held  his  wife  in 
his  arms,  he  had  her  love,  they  were  happy — why 
disturb  her  tranquillity  and  make  her  suffer?  Why 
not  take  his  chances  that  Irene  would,  for  her  own 
sake,  remain  silent? 

But  he  could  not  hope  that  she  would.  And  he 
felt  that  if  Minnie  heard  of  his  defection  from  his  own 
lips,  it 'would  be  easier  for  her  to  forgive  him. 

Not,  however,  to-day,  would  he  speak  the  words 
that  must  blight  their  happiness,  dim  this  girlish 
brightness  so  beautiful  in  his  sight,  bring  horror  into 

[279] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

eyes  that  now  mirrored  love  and  trust.  To-morrow 
morning  before  he  left  for  home  he  might  force  him- 
self to  the  ordeal.  To-day — 

"  'Let  joy  be  unconfined !' "  he  suddenly  said  aloud. 

And  Minnie  responded,  "  It  will  be — once  I'm  home 
with  you  and  the  children  again!" 

*'I  must  say,"  said  John  ruefully,  "you  looked 
awful  well  satisfied  with  that  doctor  sitting  here 
alongside  of  you,  before  I  came.  I  watched  you  for  a 
while  before  I  made  my  presence  known  to  you.  I'd 
have  thought,  Minnie  darling,  you'd  have  been  too 
anxious  to  see  me  to  take  such  interest  in  another 
one!" 

"But  it  was  because  I  was  expecting  you  that  I 
was  so  happy.  I  was  talking  to  him  about  you." 

"You  were?" 

"Yes,  I'm  all  the  time  talking  about  you  and  the 
children.  Oh,  John,  I  can't  wait  much  longer  to  see 
them!" 

"Ain't  there  any  one  here  that  you'll  miss,  once 
you  get  home?"  asked  John  jealously. 

"Oh,  yes,  I'll  miss  Miss  Kentnor,  my  nurse.  She's 
been  so  good  to  me!  I  have  never  known  a  woman 
like  her,  John! — such  an  educated  woman  that  way, 
and  so  ladylike  and  genteel!" 

"So  I  gathered  from  her  letters  to  me  about  you, 
Minnie.  But — is  there  anything — any  one — else 
you'll  miss  maybe?  " 

"Well,  yes,  I'll  miss  Doctor  Conrad.  He  and  I 
have  come  to  be  good  friends.  Does  that  sound 

[280J 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

funny  to  you,  John,  to  hear  me  say  I'm  a  friend  to 
another  man?  I  know  it  would  look  awful  funny  in 
Hesswille.  But,  John,  I  see  now  that  Hesswille  is  a 
little  narrow  in  some  ways.  Why  shouldn't  the 
doctor  and  I  be  good  friends?  I'd  like  to  have  a  lot 
of  friends  like  him  and  Miss  Kentnor." 

"Only  so  it  stops  at  friendship,  Minnie!"  said 
John  darkly.  "It  ain't  so  easy  to  make  it  stop  just 
where  you  want  it  to  stop.  Anyhow  for  a  man  it 
ain't  easy." 

"But  why  should  a  person  ever  want  to  stop  the 
forces  of  nature?" 

"Why,  Minnie!"  exclaimed  John,  shocked. 
"You're  not  believing  in  free  love,  are  you?" 

"Do  you  believe  only  in  legal  love,  John?  Is 
there  such  a  thing  as  legal  love?" 

"Yes,  there  is!"  returned  John  hotly.  "Who's 
been  putting  such  ideas  into  your  head  anyhow? ' 

"Well,  the  doctor  and  I  had  some  conwersations 
on  that  subject. " 

"A  funny  kind  of  a  doctor,  I  must  say,  to  be 
holdin'  such  improper  conwersations  with  his  young 
lady  patients!"  said  John  indignantly. 

"They  weren't  improper,  John — they  were  very 
interesting  and  instructive.  We  mustn't  be  narrow 
that  way,  if  we  can  otherwise  help  it,  dear.  Life's 
a  lot  broader  than  I  thought  it  was  before  I  was 
sick." 

"I  hope  you  haven't  got  so  broadminded  that 
you've  got  away  a  little  from  me,  Minnie!" 

[281] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"If  I've  moved  away  from  you  a  little,  I'll  soon 
pull  you  along  after  me  up,"  she  smiled. 

"Minnie!  I  saw  the  way  that  doctor  was  looking 
at  you!  I  believe — yes,  I'm  darned  if  I  don't — that 
fellah's  had  the  nerve  to  fall  in  love  with  you!" 

"Sometimes  I  think  so,  too.  There  for  a  while  I 
was  sure  of  it — and  it  made  things  wery  pleasant  and 
helped  pass  the  time.  I  like  having  a  man  hi  love 
with  me." 

"Why,  Minnie,  how  you  talk!  And  you  a 
married  woman  yet !  If  I  didn't  know  how  damned 
innocent  you  are,  I'd  think — I  wouldn't  know  what 
to  think!" 

"But  so  long  as  I'm  not  in  love  with  him,  John,  it 
can't  make  you  any  difference." 

"Are  you  sure  you're  not  in  love  with  him  a 
little? — him  that  is  so  much  more  genteel  and 
educated  than  what  I  am?" 

"Oh,  John!"  she  laughed.  "He's  not  the  big, 
strong,  splendid  man  that  you  are!  Don't  you 
mind  what  I  wrote  you? — that  the  more  I  see  of 
other  ones,  the  more  I  see  what  a  fine,  upstanding 
man  /have!" 

John's  big  chest  heaved  a  deep,  long  sigh  of 
relief.  "It  sounds  awful  good  to  me,  Minnie,  to 
hear  you  say  it!  But  I  don't  deserve  it,  you  know. 
Mebby  I  ain't  what  you  think  me.  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  what  you  do  think  me!  A  little  god  on  a 
pedestal,  I'm  afraid!" 

"No,  not  a  god — but  god-like  sometimes,  John." 
[282] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"I  wish  that  was  true,  dear — for  your  sake — 
because  you  deserve  the  best.  But  it  ain't  true." 

In  his  heart,  however,  John  did  not  feel  himself  to 
be  a  criminal.  He  believed,  now,  that  he  always  had 
loved  his  wife;  that  what  had  drawn  him  to  Irene  had 
been  lust,  not  love,  and  that  inasmuch  as  she,  being 
what  she  was,  had  not  been  injured  by  him  (such 
was  his  highly  masculine  logic!),  he  had  not  really 
been  guilty.  He  had,  of  course,  been  a  fool — but 
surely  not  a  criminal;  else  every  man  that  walked 
was  a  criminal ! 

It  was  not,  however,  what  he  thought  of  himself, 
but  what  Minnie  would  think  of  him  when  she  knew, 
that  mattered.  And  it  was  this  great  doubt  which, 
during  the  long  hours  of  that  night,  as  he  lay  in  the 
room  adjoining  his  wife's,  kept  him  awake  and 
suffering. 

The  next  morning  as  he  sat  with  her  in  her  sunny 
bedroom  during  the  few  hours  before  he  must  leave 
her  and  go  home,  some  questions  of  hers  precipitated 
his  "confession." 

"Does  Irene  make  you  and  the  children  comfort- 
able, John?" 

"Well,  to  be  sure,  she  ain't  the  housekeeper  you 
are,  Minnie," 

"She  never  had  it  to  do — her  mother  and  aunt 
always  did  all.  I  guess  she's  got  my  house  all 
through-other!"  said  Minnie  anxiously. 

"Don't  worry  about  that,  dear.  It'll  be  cleaned 
from  garret  to  cellar  before  we  bring  you  home. 

[283] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Jennie  and  Mrs.  Johnson,  the  coloured  lady,  will  do 
it." 

"Won't  Irene  help?" 

"She's  gone,  Minnie." 

"Gone!  But  why  did  she  leave  before  I  was  well 
enough  to  come  home?" 

"She — she  got  tired  of  it.  She  hates  housework. 
She  don't  like  children.  She's  wery  fond  of  pleasure. 
It  was  slow  for  her  with  us,"  said  John  rather  in- 
coherently, hating  the  necessity  for  evasion  and 
subterfuge;  he  wanted  his  mind  and  soul  to  be  an 
open  page  to  his  wife,  as  hers  were  to  him. 

"But  have  you  another  housekeeper,  John,  to 
take  care  of  you  till  I  come  home?  " 

"Mrs.  Johnson,  the  coloured  lady  you  mind  of,  is 
coming  to  stay.  And  I'm  going  to  keep  her  for  a 
good  while  after  you  do  get  home — maybe  all  the 
time.  I  know,  now,  that  you  always  had  too  much 
work  to  do,  Minnie.  Never  again  am  I  going  to 
leave  you  do  all  the  work  by  yourself.  We're  going 
to  hire.  I'm  getting  one  hundred  dollars  a  month 
after  this  term." 

"Oh,  John,  that's  grand! — that  the  school  board 
appreciates  so  what  a  fine  teacher  you  are!" 

"Now  if  that  ain't  just  like  you,  Minnie  dear,  to 
see  that  side  of  it — the  honour  to  me — sooner'n  the 
practical  adwantage  of  it  to  you!  It's  ten  dollars  a 
month  more  for  you  to  buy  gew-gaws!"  he  reminded 
her. 

"For  Sophie!"  she  cried,  her  eyes  sparkling.  "I 
[284] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

do  like  to  doll  her  up! — that's  what  the  nurse  calls 
dressing  fancy,"  she  explained.  "'I  must  go  doll 
up,'  she  says  when  she's  expecting  her  gentleman 
friend.  Or  she'll  say,  'Well,  I  must  go  now  and  put 
on  my  glad  rags.'  Glad  rags  yet,  John !  Yes,  that's 
what  she  calls  her  best  frock!  Ain't  it  funny? 
But  they  all  think  I  talk  funny.  Sometimes  they 
can't  understand  me  right.  One  day  when  the 
doctor  had  to  take  out  some  stitches,  the  thought  of 
it  made  me  have  so  sick,  I  said,  'Leave  me  wrench 
out  my  mouth!'  And  the  doctor  and  the  nurse 
laughed  at  me  and  Doctor  Conrad  said,  'It's  me 
that's  going  to  do  the  wrenching,  Mrs.  Wimmer!' — 
for  the  stitches  were  awful  hard  to  take  out,  John!'* 

"Poor  little  Minnie!  How  can  I  ever  make  up  to 
you  for  all  you've  suffered ! " 

"But  you've  suffered,  too!  It  shows  so  in  your 
face  how  you've  suffered!" 

Was  this  the  moment,  he  wondered,  when  he 
should  admit  to  her  that  his  suffering  had  not  been 
unmitigated,  had  not  been  without  its  consolations? 
It  was  a  bitter  thing  to  have  to  do!  To  deliberately 
hurt  a  thing  so  frail,  so  tender,  so  precious  to  him! 
It  seemed  as  impossible  as  it  would  be  to  lift  his  hand 
and  strike  her. 

"John,"  she  said  presently,  a  touch  of  anxiety  in 
her  voice,  "I've  been  awful  anxious  about  something 
that  I  didn't  like  to  bother  you  with — but  now  I'm 
going  to  ask  you." 

"Well,  dear?" 

[285] 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

"Tell  me  truly — was  Irene  ugly  to  the  children 
sometimes?  I've  been  so  afraid  of  that!  She's  so 
ugly-dispositioned  that  way! — and  all  for  herself — I 
I  knew  she'd  never  have  the  patience  with  children 
that  you've  got  to  have  to  be  fair  to  them.  To  be 
fair  to  children  you  darsen't  think  of  your  own 
comfort  and  conwenience.  And  Irene  never  thought 
of  anything  else." 

"How  do  you  know  her  so  well?  You  never  were 
friends." 

"We  went  to  school  together,  you  know.  She 
used  to  make  fun  of  the  clothes  I  wore  that  I  had  to 
make  for  myself  because  I  hadn't  any  one  to  make 
them  for  me.  And  she'd  taunt  me  about  father's 
healing  and  ask  me  why  he  didn't  pray  some  new 
paint  on  our  old  house,  or  some  new  shoes  on  my 
feet.  Oh!  She  used  to  torment  me  awful!  It's 
been  a  worry  to  me,  John,  that  she  had  care  of  the 
children!  But  of  course  I  knew  you  had  to  have 
some  one  to  keep  house  for  you,  so  I  didn't  say  any- 
thing. But  I'm  glad  she's  not  there  any  more. 
Was  she  ugly  to  them?" 

"Sometimes,  Minnie.  But  of  course  I  did  all  I 
could  to  shield  them." 

"You  poor  John!  You  did  have  an  awful  time, 
didn't  you?" 

"Ye—es." 

"Where's  Irene  gone?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Why  did  she  go,  John?" 
[286] 


"Look  here,  Minnie,  you  know  that  I  love  you, 
don't  you?  You  know  that  I  have  always  loved 

you?" 

"Nothing  could  shake  my  faith  in  your  love, 
John." 

"Nothing?    Are  you  sure?" 

"HowcowMIdoubtit?" 

"But,  Minnie — try  to  understand  it  if  you  can! — 
during  some  of  those  long,  long  weeks  when  you  were 
like  dead  to  me — when  you  didn't  know  me,  didn't 
remember  anything,  your  mind  a  dead  blank — when 
I  thought  you'd  always  be  like  that — Irene  came — 
she  lived  with  us — she  was  young  and  strong  and 
handsome — and,  Minnie,  my  dear!" 

"What,  John?" 

"Irene  became  my  mistress!" 

It  was  bewilderment,  rather  than  the  horror  which 
he  looked  for,  that  she  seemed  to  feel  at  first.  She 
couldn't  take  it  in,  could  not  imagine  such  a  thing  as 
possible.  Her  comments  were  vague,  incoherent, 
almost  trivial. 

"But  just  yesterday  you  were  indignant  because 
you  thought  Doctor  Conrad  was  in  love  with  me!" 

"I'm  indignant  with  myself,  too,  Minnie!" 

"But  such  a  coarse,  common  person  as  Irene! — • 
Henry's  widow! — you,  John!" 

Through  her  eyes  it  did  look  to  John  unspeakably 
sordid.  He  could  not  plead  to  her  that  there  had 
been  at  first  for  him  an  ideal  side  to  it;  that  he  had, 
for  a  while,  romantically  idealized  and  really  loved 

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THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

Irene,  such  glamour  had  her  personal  lure  thrown 
over  her  coarseness  and  "commonness."  That  fact, 
far  from  mitigating  his  conduct,  would  surely  make  it 
hold  for  Minnie  a  disloyalty  such  as  she  would  not, 
perhaps,  find  in  mere  sordidness. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  so  weak,  John!  I've 
always  thought  you  were  a  tower  of  strength!" 

"A  leaning  tower  is  what  you'll  have  to  think  me 
after  this,  Minnie!  You  know,  now,  that  I'm  human 
like  other  men!" 

"Oh,  I  always  knew  that" 

"You  did,  did  you?" 

"But  I  never  thought  you  could  be  common!  I 
always  have  known  that  you  were  fine  inside,  John. 
So  different  from  all  the  other  men  in  Hesswille. 
That's  why  I  loved  you.  But  this  thing  you  tell  me 
is  so  common  that  it  makes  me  feel  repulsive!" 

"Oh,  Minnie!     Don't  tell  me  that!" 

"You  see,  I  can't  seem  to  understand  what  could 
draw  you  to  Irene.  Of  course  I  know  it  wasn't 
love — you're  not  the  sort  of  man  to  love  a  person 
like  her.  So  what  you  did  feel  for  her,  wonders 
me!" 

"I  wonder  at  it,  too,  now,  Minnie." 

"I  ain't  jealous,  John — I  couldn't  have  jealous  of  a 
woman  like  Irene.  I  just  couldn't.  She  and  I  are 
too  different.  I  could  only  have  jealous  of  a  person 
that  was  worthy  for  you,  John." 

"Minnie,  dear,  you  have  always  made  a  god  of  me. 
Well,  you  have  lost  an  object  of  worship — but 

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THE  SCHOOLMASTER  OF  HESSVILLE 

maybe  I've  gained  spiritually  in  losing  a  worshipper! 
It  was  hard  to  keep  from  becoming  a  prig,  living  with 
a  person  that  thought  you  were  more  than  human, 
dear!" 

"No,  John,  I  don't  think  I  have  thought  better  of 
you  than  you  deserved.  To  be  sure,  I've  seen  only 
the  best  in  you,  and  maybe  I've  overlooked  some 
other  things  that  never  came  up  so  conspicuous  that 
I  could  see  them.  But  that  best  that  I  saw  was 
there  1" 

"Do  you  mean,  Minnie,  that  your  faith  in  me  is 
not  shaken?"  he  asked  wonderingly. 

"I  know  you  love  me,"  she  said  simply. 

"Bless  you  for  that!"  he  cried  as  he  knelt  at  her 
side  and  buried  his  face  on  her  knees.  "I'll  never, 
never  fail  you  again,  Minnie!" 

"To  be  sure,  John,  a  thing  like  this  you  tell  me 
could  never  disturb  the  deeps  of  our  love!" 

"I  believe,  Minnie  dearest,  you've  known  me 
better  than  I've  known  myself!"  said  John. 

It  was  a  comfortable  belief  and  he  tried  to  hold 
fast  to  it. 

THE  END 


[2891 


THE  COUNTRY  LIFE  PRESS 
GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


A     000110721     8 


